


The Blood on My Teeth Begins to Taste Like a Poem, Like Religion, Like the Way You Look at Me

by Darker_Side



Series: My Dear, We are Slow Dancing in a Burning Room [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 4x10 canon-divergence, Animalistic Sex, Blood Play, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Creatures of Hell, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Demon possession, Emotional Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, Exorcism, F/M, Feral Devil, Gloriously Bloody God-Defying Ownage Fucking (thanks Luni), Horror, Links throughout, Major Character Injury, Partial Monster Sex, Porn With Plot, Possessive Lucifer, Sad Ending, She's done with all the celestial bullshit, Snarky Chloe, Uncontrollable Devil form, devil dick, hell loops, primal, switching POVs, uncertain outcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:13:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darker_Side/pseuds/Darker_Side
Summary: He could feel Chloe’s heart beating erratically beneath his arms, and even he knew that the mortal form could only handle so much distress before the organ gave out. She would surely be lost to him then, because he would not be able to follow where she would go. He was certain of it. He squeezed her even harder, no longer trying to comfort her, but to soothe his own soul, to soothe the panic rising in his chest, burning like bile in his throat. It was the only way, and he wasn’t even sure if it would work. Wasn’t even sure if he could say the words without his tongue bursting into flames, without being smote down by the power of his Father. But he had to do it. It was his only gamble in saving her. He was failing, and he had to call upon other powers that be to intervene.--Lucifer asks for a favor. Turns out the best way to stop the violence is to surround yourselves with more of it than you're willing to dish-out. Sometimes it's not enough to keep you together.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: My Dear, We are Slow Dancing in a Burning Room [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1756186
Comments: 56
Kudos: 90





	The Blood on My Teeth Begins to Taste Like a Poem, Like Religion, Like the Way You Look at Me

**Author's Note:**

> Title by Sean Glatch, from _Caffeine pt. 1_
> 
> Okay… so _this_ happened. It grew a plot… and it only took two parts to get there. Haha. Well, it’s always had somewhat of a plot. Each part has been a canon-divergence of episodes in Season 4, but this one was like a very sexy devil on my shoulder, telling me to _keep fucking going_ So blame him.  
> I know it’s a lot, but I just feel I need to say a few things to those who feel like listening.
> 
> I have never intended for anything in this series to come off as non-consensual and/or rape. It was definitely dubious consent in more than a few places, but that was purposeful. I’m thoroughly surprised by the majority of positive comments I’ve received on this, and I can’t thank you guys enough. It was such a blast to explore the darker side of humanity (and celestials) and I’m happy most of you enjoyed it to.
> 
> I aimed to make something that was contemplative, thought-provoking, and difficult to read, at times, because those are things I like to read. I love to be surprised, awe-struck, completely flabbergasted by content, and I just hoped to do the same thing. Sometimes it can be an enlightening experience to see something from a different perspective, and sometimes it can be challenging. That’s why the tagging system is so great here. I did my best to tag accordingly, and many of you told me I tagged appropriately, so I appreciate that. 
> 
> I just want you all to have a fun time, reading something that you’re still surprised by, but are informed on some difficult content, in case that’s just not your thing. Which is 100% okay.
> 
> What’s not okay is attacking the readership and the author of darker content. Luckily, there was only one comment (and that individual deleted their comment) that I found highly offensive to myself and to the readers who enjoyed it. I asked a few friends, and they felt the same. It’s not okay to question and assume someone’s mental health based on the types of subjects they cover or the kinks they include in fiction. Fiction, including fanfiction, is there to have fun with. It’s not real, it’s not harmful (if the proper warnings are utilized) and it can be an outlet for certain emotions. 
> 
> It is 100% okay to enjoy rough sex, it’s okay to enjoy hate-sex, it’s okay to want someone to slap the shit out of you while shoving their arm down your throat. It’s also okay if you want someone to only make the sweet, sweet love with you. You do you. We’re all different, and that makes for some awesome smut, am I right?
> 
> Okay… just had to express myself there. If you’re still with me, I hope you can stay with me for this rather large segment. As always, let me know if I missed some tags! Also, you may have noticed… the tags might be a bit nicer…? Hehe. Enjoy, you lovely fiends.
> 
> **Before I forget, there's a bit of Latin in here. At the start of the Latin dialogue, I'll have a link to the site with the translation. I will also have links to songs in their respective places throughout. Anything underlined, like a hyperlink, will be a link. Enjoy!**
> 
> _bows and fades into the darkness…_

**[[Dark Conscience]](https://youtu.be/RQ5ROsgxDmg) **

All the chaos that had surrounded them was suddenly quieted as bodies fell, collapsing into a piles of corpses at their feet. Breathing heavily, Lucifer looked around the room, seeing Maze in one corner, blades out, lip bleeding, but otherwise okay. Amenadiel managed the fight without a single mark marring his skin, but his eyes were wide and haunted, no doubt rattled by the sheer violence dealt by a hoard of demon-possessed dead. Eve was nowhere in sight, and he hoped that she had gotten the child out of the building quietly. Lucifer watched his brother take one last long look at the wasted remains of their Father's creation before running out of a side door, no doubt ensuring the safety of his child. Maze sank to the ground, wiping her brow, a small smile on her face. She always enjoyed a good fight, but Lucifer couldn't share in her relief, he was too concerned with the sudden disappearance of all the demons to rejoice in their departure.

It didn't feel right, and he could still feel the energy swirling around them in the air. He could smell the rot of demonic presence, could feel fire in his veins as the monster had been baited to come out. The sound of the door opening caught his attention, and when he looked up, the most beautiful and deadly vision stood on the other side of the abandoned building. Chloe had her gun drawn, but it slowly fell when she caught sight of the mountain of bodies littering the floor, any and all blood remaining in their forms had been spilt on the ground.

"What the fuck?" he heard her ask, more to herself than anything, and he could see the horror on her face, the sheer panic at all the evidence of death enclosed in a single room. He felt Maze's stare, and when he turned to face his long-time friend, her eyes were the most horrified he'd ever seen them. She was on her feet before he blinked, running towards Chloe, looking at him from over her shoulder.

"Chloe, you can't be here!" he heard his trusted demon scream, and he wasn't sure why Maze was running, why she would be afraid of Chloe's presence. It wasn't like Chloe had been hurting and been being hurt by her. It wasn't like she and Chloe had been tearing each other apart through hateful words and violent sex like they had. He saw something shift in the way Chloe stood, and felt the pain before he heard the loud whiz of the bullet soaring through the air, through his shoulder.

He gasped, feeling heat trickle down the front of his shirt as he heard a second shot, the sound of Maze yelling following it. He shook himself from the shock of the moment, and that really said something for how Chloe could rattle him to the bone, even after a hoard of demons had tried to possess the whole of Los Angeles. Maze was on the ground, scooting away from Chloe, one leg out strait and bleeding from the knee. He watched Chloe raise the gun, aiming for Maze's head, and he did the only thing he could think to do at that time. "Chloe!" he called out, and the human turned to look at him, her eyes wrong, face set in an expression of pure adoration. He watched her take a step forward, slamming the butt of the pistol into Maze's temple, rendering her unconscious.

His shoulder ached, a searing white-hot pain that was not unfamiliar to him, and he watched as Chloe stalked towards him, gun in hand, no longer raised to him. She held the gun to her own temple, a wicked grin spread across her lips, and she hopped-up on to the stage where he stood with an ease that was unnatural. His breathing quickened, going shaky and unsteady, his entire arm throbbing from the hole in it.

"Look at you," Chloe whispered, in a voice that was wrong and sounded acidic in his ears. Her eyes shown with something reverent, a long-held adoration that had been losing traction for some time. She eyed him up and down, zeroing in on the bleeding wound in his shoulder, licking her lips like it was a sight to make her hungry.

"Detective," Lucifer started, his head feeling fuzzy and confused. It made no sense. Why would Chloe shoot Maze? She had reasons to shoot him, sure, but Maze had done nothing. Maze wasn't deserving of her righteous rage. "What are you doing?" He hated how weak his voice sounded, how small. He hated how small she could make him feel; she knew how to build him up and then tear him down with a single, controlled explosive.

"I can see why you like this one, Lucifer," she replied in the wrong voice, again, the hand not holding the gun to her head trailed down her body, feeling it out. He squinted his eyes, only realizing that he was missing something he shouldn't be missing. It was hard now, between them. They were different than they used to be, and he never knew what to think of her neutrality, her rare moments of kindness. She wasn't right, that much was true, she had shot him and Maze, and she was holding a gun to her own head. Everything was wrong, yet he couldn't make himself see the answer. "She's special."

Lucifer looked down at his shoulder, watching blood slowly slide down the front of his torso, down his arm. It was starting to drip from his fingers, and he swore he could hear the drops hit the floor when the reality of the situation finally hit him. The voice was wrong because it wasn't Chloe's voice. The posture, the expressions, the walk, all wrong because they didn't belong to Chloe.

It wasn't Chloe who had shot them. It wasn't Chloe standing in front of him, holding a gun to her head. It wasn't a _someone_ at all.

"Looks like Daddy's special project doesn't need to be dead," The demon wearing Chloe's skin chimed, smiling fondly at Lucifer, and the only question remaining was _which_ demon it was. He could almost place the voice. He just needed to hear it one more time. Eons of time spent with them could not be forced from his mind, no matter how hard he tried to forget. "Although, I do wonder what would happen if she were to die," Chloe's lips mouthed out, teeth sinking into her bottom lip in excitement, the gun pressing harder against her head.

He snapped-back to himself, the shock and confusion finally washing out of his head like the ocean pulling away from the shore. He was on her before the demon could react, a single hand grasping the front of her throat, and the only reason her head was still attached was because the flesh belonged to Chloe; a Chloe who was seemingly still alive. "Don't you fucking dare," he growled, inching his face closer to one he was so drawn to. She smelled wrong, the scent of Hell wafting through her pores, and it didn't belong there.

The demon groaned, eyes rolling back, and chuckled. Such fickle things, demons. He had earned their respect long ago, but they were not blind subjects to his Rule. They tempted and tested him more than anything else, and they seemed to enjoy his wrath and violence, even when it was bestowed upon them. "Lucifer, we've missed you," she moaned, licking Chloe's lips with Chloe's tongue, and he fought to remember it wasn't her. It wasn't Chloe moaning in his grasp, no matter how much he wanted it to be. "I've missed you my Lord. I've missed your vicious touch."

It was a hint, a clue; the demon in Chloe's skin was one of the few he fucked in Hell. One of the few that piqued his interest, that looked less monster and more seductress. A succubus of vices and debauchery that took whatever violence he offered. He'd fuck them in his other form, dwarf their size, split them open on a huge, red, burning cock. Break bones, tear at flesh, and they'd thank him for every drop of blood he spilt.

"This one," the demon started, eyes lowering as if she were looking down at herself before raising them back up to meet his own. "She's felt you before, softer but still cruel. I can _feel_ her memories, I can see what you've done to her, what she's done to you… Don't you want more?"

Lucifer squeezed Chloe's throat harder, conscious of sacred, mortal flesh inhabited by an unwelcome pest. She was still in there, somewhere, and he only wished she still had trust in him. He only wished she could see that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. That he'd fix it. That he'd save her.

"Let me kill her for you," she offered, eyes lighting up in a way that only a mortal shell could give a demon's cold, dead eyes. "Then you can have her forever and come back to us." It was barely a breath before the demon's grip on the gun tightened and Lucifer could see the trigger finger start to pull the trigger. He grabbed the barrel with his free hand and barely moved it far enough away that the bullet missed Chloe's head by mere centimeters, instead going through Lucifer's palm from where he had covered the barrel. He growled, and angry, pained sound of a wounded beast as he tossed the gun away with the same hand, blood dripping down onto the ground from the almost perfect circle going through his hand. A black right of soot surrounded the wound, and the damaged skin already showed signs of bruising.

He still had his grip of Chloe's borrowed throat in his other hand and he found the nearest wall to pin her against. Blue eyes were wide in fear, a vision he wished he hadn't seen out of those eyes before, but it was familiar, a memory of months ago in a white room when she had last looked at him like that. Like he was the most horrific thing she'd seen. It wasn't Chloe looking at him with understood fear, but it was her eyes, and the familiarity of it hurt. The demon knew to fear him, had detailed, intimate knowledge of why she should fear him, but there was only so much he could do when Chloe would be collateral damage.

His ears were ringing, her ears were ringing, and all he could hear was the high-pitch sound of his mind in alarm by the too-loud noise, the blood in his body roaring to life like a dampened fire given accelerant. He looked at the demon, at Chloe's face, and had the overwhelming urge to kiss her, to claim her again, to be claimed. His body reacted to hers, and her soul was still there, he could feel it like his own beating heart. She was still with him and he would get her back.

The demon in Chloe's skin didn't look scared anymore, the corners of her eyes crinkled with glee, her lips turning up and a horrid, knowing chuckle escaped Chloe's throat. It was enough to make his anger flare, to make that ounce of dread he contained to swell and make itself known. "You fucking want it," she laughed, mouth open in a throaty giggle. "I can see it in your eyes, Angel. You want to take advantage of me in her body.

"Stop talking, rat," Lucifer spit, pulling her neck so he could slam her back against the wall. He heard Chloe's head hit the plaster and he winced, not wanting to hurt Chloe in the process of ruining the demon in her.

"You can do it, Lucifer," she said quietly, voice raspy and hoarse. "You can bend and break me, slit my throat, fuck into the opening so you can keep this face pretty for you. Remember all the depraved things we tried in Hell? Remember how it took you thousands of years to stop getting sick after you split me in half on your cock? When you would break me in half, watch as I drowned in my blood as you took your pleasure?"

He closed his eyes, willing his brain to stop bringing the images of each memory to the forefront of his mind. There were things he would never be proud of doing, things that, he thought, anyone would try if they had no consequences to their actions. He fed that sick part of himself, that monster lurking deep in the shadows. He used the demons to carry-out every dark fantasy he could fathom, even trying some they recommended. They loved the pain, loved the absolute debauchery of torture and sex that he was able to provide. He spent far too many years playing those games. Far too many years feeding into what Hell could make him.

"Come on, Lucifer," the demon sang out, as if giving an ultimatum. "Punish me, punish her, take what you want, _how_ you want! You've been gone for a long time, but you are still the King!" Lucifer kept his eyes closed, trying to control his breathing. It would do nobody any good if he lost his temper, if the beast broke free, without the reins of the sane part of himself. His shoulder was a dull ache, his hand a throbbing burn, and his heart was a stony mix of heavy and crumbling, and he felt more out of control than he had in a while.

"I'll give you one more chance to get out of her," Lucifer mumbled through clenched teeth. He opened his eyes, red burning brightly, a subtle reminder for who she was talking to. "Or I'll drag you back down to Hell myself, Lamia." No matter his position, that was not the answer the demon was looking for. Being up on Earth, possessing a live, human body gave her a confidence that was dangerous in a demon. It was what made Maze such a tormenting foe to those who crossed her.

The demon smirked with Chloe's lips, and it made Lucifer's stomach flop, his insides run cold. It was fear, but it was something close to it, for Chloe's sake. Her sanity. "How about I slice her up?" Lucifer hadn't felt Chloe's foot coming up, her leg bending at the knee so her shoe was within reach of her lowered hand. He barely saw the movement before a blade was pulled from Chloe's boot, before the demon was dragging the knife across Chloe's face, drawing blood. Lucifer shoved her against the wall harder, trying to drag her up while reaching for the knife with his injured hand. The demon laughed when she tried to slice along her throat, Lucifer catching the blade in his fingers, the steel cutting into flesh, down to bone, but he held on.

Blood trickled down the front of Chloe's blouse, and even darker stain against dark fabric, but he wouldn't let go, if he did, the blade would sink into the side of Chloe's neck, and she would bleed out while Lamia laughed air bubbles into the blood pooling in her mouth and lungs. He grunted, the demon's strength was more than he expected, more than he preferred with his body being invulnerable and in pain with Chloe's soul still around. It was a welcomed sting, a welcomed rush of blood-loss to know she was still there.

He stared into Chloe's eyes, hoping she could see he was trying to save her without killing her in the process. Hoping she could see that he would risk it all for her, regardless of their complicated relationship. By all accounts, he was praying to those blue eyes when they turned grey before changing to inky black. Inhuman. Demonic. It showed the demon was desperate, and she abandoned her hold on the knife, hand covered in Lucifer's blood, and she brought her wrists up to her mouth and starting biting. It wouldn't be clean, but the demon, with no concept of existence without pain, would be able to chew through the thin skin on Chloe's wrists, down to the veins and arteries that kept the human alive. She could tear into those and bleed her out, eventually, doing damage in the process.

Lucifer managed to move his hands and pin her wrists above her head, and the demon glared at him, snapping Chloe's teeth like a rabid dog. "You should let me put more holes in her for you to fuck," the demon whined, wiggling in his grasp, thighs rubbing together in that animal need for friction. "Just imagine, shoving your big, fat cock into a thousand tiny cunts sliced into the body made just for you." He watched the demon change tactics, slamming her head back into the wall, cracking the plaster, leaving a hole, and Lucifer would have to release her hands to keep her from doing it, from breaking Chloe's skull against the wall. He did the only logical thing left: he pulled Chloe's body from the wall, moving himself behind her and grasping her wrists in his large hands, he crossed Chloe's arms over her body and squeezed, pinning them down, his arms wrapped around her frame as they sank to the ground. He was able to wrangle his legs over Chloe's thighs, to keep the demon from kicking, and he sat like that with her cradled in his hold. He held tight, squeezing harder than he should, but he could only hope that Chloe couldn't feel his total want to destroy what was in her with his bare hands.

"I'm going take her, Lucifer!" the demon screamed, thrashing and trying to kick her legs. It was not a simple task to hold the demon down, but he'd wait a lifetime to keep Chloe from being destroyed by something meant for beings like him. "You can't stop me, eventually this mortal body will give-way to me, this mortal mind, and I'll take her then. She'll go willingly to get out of what I'm putting in her head."

Lucifer squeezed his eyes shut, rocking back and forth, like he could soothe the Hell out of Chloe, like he could try to assure her that she was safe. Relatively. In answer was shining in the back of his head like a lone star in a vast sea of black. It was an answer he always refused to accept as necessary. It wasn't something he could ever imagine doing, but Chloe took all his eons of wisdom and common sense and locked them away, where only she held the key. Her cursed to himself, squeezing harder, feeling Chloe's back crack, making him let up just a bit. The demon continued to fight, and he was starting to feel his arms give, the bullet holes doing their best to leech all his strength out with the blood he was spilling. He opened his eyes and he could see the demon had bit teeth marks into Chloe's lip, and he knew she would never stop until she made Chloe suffer, until she was able to do what demons did best and completely obliterate a person, body and soul, until they begged for mercy. They all begged for mercy at some point. Everyone.

He could feel Chloe's heart beating erratically beneath his arms, and even he knew that the mortal form could only handle so much distress before the organ gave out. She would surely be lost to him then, because he would not be able to follow where she would go. He was certain of it. He squeezed her even harder, no longer trying to comfort her, but to soothe his own soul, to soothe the panic rising in his chest, burning like bile in his throat. It was the only way, and he wasn't even sure if it would work. Wasn't even sure if he could say the words without his tongue bursting into flames, without being smote down by the power of his Father. But he had to do it. It was his only gamble in saving her. He was failing, and he had to call upon other powers that be to intervene.

["Sáncte Míchael Archángele,"](https://www.beautysoancient.com/st-michael-archangel-prayer-english-latin-short-form/) he started, the words bitter on his tongue as he struggled to swallow; everything in his being screaming at him to stop before it was too late. "Defénde nos in proélio, cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium." He shuddered at the first hint of the energy changing, the insufferable vibration that any celestial being, righteous or damned, could feel and rejoice in or recoil from. The next part he hated, the next part felt like a lie, and it was, but it was the only way to be heard. "Ímperet ílli Déus, súpplices deprecámur: tuque, prínceps milítiæ cæléstis, Sátanam aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in múndo, divína virtúte, in inférnum detrúde."

He took a deep breath, body shaking as the demon continued to fight in his arms. She had grown more and more feral as she recognized his words. She didn't know them like he knew them, but she recognized the name, and all creatures of Heaven and Hell feared him. "Ámen." He finished the prayer, and it was like the world grew quiet, like all sound no longer existed, like time stood still, and Lucifer would have sworn they were sucked into a purgatory if it the demon wearing Chloe's skin hadn't been shaking in his arms, if his own harsh breathing hadn't forced hot air out of his mouth.

The rumbling started above him, somehow, in the nothingness of the air. It was like he could see the mirage of reality beginning to shudder under some almighty power, and when it hit the ground, when he could feel the strength of the rumbling, he knew it had worked, and an odd sensation of relief and dread filled him. The demon in his arms continued to shake, shouting profanities aimed towards Lucifer, but she no longer fought. If anything the demon in Chloe's flesh tried to push into Lucifer, wanting protection for what was to come.

Everything shook as if the world was beginning to crumble in on itself, but nothing came, nothing happened; it was as if everything was held in place by whatever was making the world shake. Then he felt the pull, the suctioning pull starting from his very center, starting in reverse, from the inside out, and he clutched Chloe harder. The familiar swooping feeling of falling through the fabric of that realm was something he could never get used to. At least it wasn't like his fall. While they were pulled through the ground towards their intended destination, Lucifer could see nothing, feel nothing but the form in his arms beginning to lose its supernatural strength, becoming very human once again. He sighed in relief, as much as anyone traveling to Hell could feel, but it ended quickly. The dread came rushing back like a punch to the gut.

" _What have you done now, Snake?"_ the figureless voice spat in a tone that suggested mockery, amusement. It was all encompassing: a thick, overbearing sensation of words through his ears, and his brother's voice was something he hadn't heard in immeasurable amounts of time, and he hadn't missed it. It swam through his mind as he continued to plummet down, gliding, and when they broke through to the cold, dead land, he no longer felt the warm body in his arms, and the ground came harder than he remembered it ever had. Michael had come, and he had sent both him and Chloe to Hell.

It had been the only option. The only way to get the demon out of her body without killing her. But what was a life lived in a world meant for the dead and damned? What was a life in a world that created Lucifer's monster? A Frankenstein's monster of rejection and abandonment that housed all the vile things that grew inside him like fungus to a rotting corpse? He only hoped his brother could do one more favor for him before he left.

**0o0o0o0o0**

Chloe felt nothing, and then everything all at once. Images of piled bodies, of Lucifer's shocked, shame-ridden face, of Maze running towards her, yelling. Then, she felt an all-consuming thirst for torture and pain. She felt trapped in her body, out of control of her form. Sharp cuts of images flooded her mind, but she didn't remember doing any of it. She remembered the satisfaction, the overwhelming need for something big and hard tearing her open. Images of Lucifer, blood, arms wrapped around her, a desperate mumbling in her ear of something she couldn't understand. Then falling. She felt the sensation of falling in her swooping stomach, the stench of smoldering flesh and brimstone.

She came back to herself with a dusty cough. She didn't believe she lost consciousness, no, the vague memories and feelings feel all too real. She didn't remember seeing anything through her own eyes past the point of seeing Lucifer on the stage, hearing Maze yell-out to her. She remembers it like one watching a movie, like remembering a bad dream. She coughed again, more dust flying into the air, she opened her eyes and was able to see again. To really see. And it was horrifying.

She realized she wasn't in that building anymore. She realized that she was somewhere, outside without feeling air move; like she was on a landscape stage in a dark room, on display. That eerie feeling of being watched tingled down her spine, made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The panic that sensation brought on increased her heart rate, made her breaths come out in puffs, and that was when she saw that the dust wasn't dust at all. It was ash, ash thick on a ground of dark rock and dirt. It was falling down around her, like morbid snow, floating through windless air. It would have been pretty if not for the unsurmountable dread she felt.

**[[Eternal Shadows Fall]](https://youtu.be/b-oImTYjCoM) **

She sat up, and she could feel soreness in her body, everywhere, deeper where she had been plastered to the ground. Blood was spattered all around her: clothes, skin, almost dry and flaky, sticky on warm flesh. It didn't seem to be her own, at least not most of it. Her left wrist was covered in bite marks, the human kind, where dull teeth dug-in and tried to tear at flesh. Small, straight cuts in thin skin, larger scrapes from teeth dragging in a fleshy hold. Other than that, she found no evidence of further injury, and she wondered whose blood was on her.

 _"He's back,"_ a cacophony of voices echoed into the void of the air, making Chloe freeze where she sat. There was no origin, no direction the voices came from. They were surrounding, consuming, hissing like serpents and cackling like witches. _"The Morning Star is here_ ," the voices rang-out again, increasing their urgency, like they couldn't wait to say the news. Nothing around her helped, and the increasing panic being in a foreign location, from being somewhere that didn't make sense, was enough to make her scream. The dread kept her from doing so. The fight-flight-or flee instinct forcing her quiet and alert. _"Lightbearer, we feel you."_ Chloe swallowed down bile that tried to come out. The last sentence sounded more a threat than an acknowledgment. A very small, horrified part of her knew who the formless voices were talking about, and their message gave a hint to where she could be. But it was impossible. She wasn't dead. Was she?

There was a noise not far from her, tearing her from her panic, the sound of a rock sliding down more rock before landing on the ash-covered ground. It was almost soft, but most terrors sounded that way. The deceptive lure to lead you towards unassuming compliance. More noise, rocks falling, scurrying, the dreadful feeling of being watched, and the telltale sounds of something breathing. Sniffing. On instinct, Chloe held her breath, looking around for anything that might suffice as cover. Among the jagged rock and cold ground, she found an inlet, where the shadows could, hopefully, keep her hidden. From what, she did not know. All she knew was that she was in a strange place, with atmospheric voices, and noises that sounded dangerously close to stalking prey.

**[[Dark Glow]](https://youtu.be/LzXrNQ-EHsg) **

She scuffled over to the inlet, pressing her back against the stone, drawing her knees in to her chest, concealing herself in darkness. It was then that she realized she was divested of both firearm and knife, with only ambiguous flashes of Lucifer tossing the gun, of her own hand dropping a blood-covered blade. The next sound was a low rumble, a growl, deep and loud. A sound like that came from something large, and it sounded closer. The hairs on the back of her neck raised and trembled, her skin prickled with anxiety, and she could see her ash-covered knees quaking in the darkness.

Whatever it was snarled, and she could have sworn she herd an audible licking of the lips, and then completely silence. The only sound was her harsh breathing; the sound of someone trying not to breathe loudly when they were struggling for oxygen. The not-so-quiet gasping that made too much noise in the dark. She fought the urge to stick her head out, to see if she could see anything nearby, and tried to remain still and nonexistent in her small, dark corner. A few breaths, a moment that felt like eternity, slipped by, and she almost fell into the trap of relief, but then something grabbed her ankle and yanked her from her shadowed fortress.

She screamed into the void, thick claws digging into her calf attached to something too strong for any person to be. Beyond the cloud of dusted ash, she could see a tall figure, shaped strange for something on two legs. Limbs disproportionately long, head just _wrong._ No amount of kicking deterred the thing, the _beast_ that had her, and when she forced herself to look down, she saw that the hand that held her was more a clawed and hairy, knobby knuckles and too-long digits. It was attached to a fur-covered arm, muscled and lean, and that was attached to something even more incredulous.

Every fearful bone in her body screamed that it was what it seemed. She had seen far too many movies, read too many books, to not have an idea of what the creature looked like. But they weren't real. They couldn't be dragging her through ash and rocks, snarling and licking chops that shouldn't be that high in the air. She was trembling, and she knew it, but when one was faced with such atrocity, that seemed to be the only appropriate reaction. She screamed again, yelling anything that might get the attention of something, anything else.

Nothing came to her aid, and when the beast finally stopped, whether on purpose or having grown tired of Chloe kicking its gruesome hand, it reached down and wrapped the other gnarly hand around her throat, lifting her clear off the ground. She gasped and struggled for any amount of air, only to have it all pushed out of her when the beast shoved her against a stony wall. Snouted face inching closer and closer to her own, dripping with drool and rotting breath. The eyes were black and glossy, and she could see the reflection of her reddened, swelling face, filling with blood from the choke, in those dark pools.

A long, wet tongue snaked out of the snout, moving like a fleshy serpent, and licked the side of her face, leaving a trail of putrid, slimy drool on cheek, dripping from the edge of her jaw. The creature made a sound, close to a groan, and Chloe's eyes widened when she saw the jaws open slowly, as if to marinate its prey in fear, to savor the taste of dread and horror in her bones. Suddenly, the beast stopped, and a squirming, wet sound erupted from its stomach. Chloe looked down as the beast howled and she watched in terror as a fist punched its way out of the beasts torso, stopping when knuckled brushed against her ribs.

She was dropped to the ground a few feet below her, hardly feeling the hardness of the ground before she was scurrying back, getting away from the screeching beast and whatever had harmed it. Although it had protected her from the wolf-like creature, she wasn't sure if it was only ridding itself of an obstacle to fresh meat. The other _thing_ was still hidden behind the creature, fist now pulled free from its body and it fell to its deformed knees as an arm, an actual arm, wrapped around its throat. Chloe's mouth fell open, a silent scream, at the face that was now exposed from behind the kneeling beast. A face she knew with eyes as red as an inferno that she was now familiar with. Something was different, he was larger, even if only slightly, and while most of him appeared the same, parts of him had turned to his other form.

With a deafening crack, Lucifer broke the creature's neck, his own growl audible from her position some ten feet away. His breathing was ragged, and for a while, he didn't look at her, instead, he looked down at his kill, and she wasn't sure if it was disgust or hunger she saw there. He turned, glowing eyes burning into her, and she swallowed down the urge to plead for mercy. He was a sight, an unimaginable knight in bloody armor. He seemed to come back to himself after a few moments, and he turned his eyes down as he approached her, unable to look at her, whether out of shame or pity she wasn't sure. He knew what he looked like, knew the brutality he just showed, but he saved her from something she still had no name for.

"Are you alright?" he asked when close enough, voice hoarse and deeper, sounding wrong but still his. She was still shaking, she knew he could see that, but she nodded her head, staying on the ground, keeping her eyes level with his knees. He said nothing as he knelt down in front of her, one devilish hand reaching out to gingerly grasp her boot, looking at the damage the beast's claws had done to her leg. It wasn't much, nothing too serious, but it ripped her jeans, cut into her flesh, left her bleeding and sore, but she, in spite of it, was okay. For a second, she felt his fingers dance over the torn material, as if he were afraid to touch, before moved his hand closer to her, outstretched, an offering. With shaky hand and breath, she accepted the help and finally looked up, into eyes she had been intimate with, into a face that remained handsome regardless of the changes. It was him, and for the first time, she felt no fear looking upon the Devil peeking through Lucifer's skin.

"We can't stay here," he told her quietly, pressing his lips together before ushering her in front of him, pushing lightly, urging her to move forward. The first steps hurt, but once she grasped the extent of the pain, walking became easier.

"What was that?" she asked, quietly, turning her head to look over her shoulder. Lucifer was behind her, a few feet between them, and he looked vigilant. Sharp shoulders raised, glowing eyes looking every direction, clawed hands poised at the ready by his sides.

"It's best not to ask questions, Detective," he responded after a few steps, eyes finally landing back on hers. His expression didn't change, and it really said a lot about their detrimental relationship that his half-Devil half-angel appearance was growing on her. Maybe she really could grow to accept both. Maybe she wouldn't have a choice. Trauma tended to either bring people together or tear them apart, tearful and bloody.

"This is Hell, isn't it?" she asked anyway, stopping in her tracks and turning to face him. He stopped before he could run into her, and part of her wished to feel the solid heat of his presence against her. To let the cold fear in her bones seep into his warmth.

"Home, sweet home," he remarked, self-depreciating and repugnant. He looked regretful to have to tell her, like he wished she could have just imagined they were some place cold and dark, but still Earth. Still a place controlled by the rules of time and space. He stared at her for a moment before reaching down and wrapping an altered hand around her wrist. He started walking again, and she walked beside him, in his grip, like a child being led through an unsafe area.

"It was a Vukodlak," he said after a few minutes, glancing down at her out of the corner of his eye. "It's old, ancient. One of the many creatures here my Father found unacceptable for his ant farm."

If he had told her that a year before, she would have taken it as another delusion; an analogy for something his Father had done, but it wasn't last year. She knew of angels, demons, the Devil, and having seen the thing up close and personal, it was hard to not believe him. The appearance of it made her question all the other urban legends and fairytales she and so many other _human_ s had been told throughout the centuries. Myths that might not be so mythical. "Looked like a werewolf," she muttered, staring down at his hand encasing her wrist.

" _Were_ implies it was human. That thing was never human," he corrected, looking down to where she was staring. He released his hold on her, licking his lips before turning his gaze back to the land in front of them. "I can't control it here. This place makes me something I hate."

She wanted to reach out, grab his red, scarred hand, tell him it was okay, but she didn't. She hadn't earned the right to comfort him. Not after everything they had done to each other. Instead of answering, she took the time to really take-in his appearance. She noticed the red, scarred skin on his neck, curling up and over the curve of his jaw, leaving thin lines of red on his cheeks, resembling dancing flames. His hands were red and irritated, fingers longer and nails pointed and thick. The skin returned to his normal creamy tan the closer it got to the crook of his elbows, where the sleeves of his shirt had been rolled and cuffed. His eyes, even more bright and alarming, seemed to give off their own heat, and she swore she saw slightly longer points on the canine teeth in his mouth when he had spoken. She had seen his Devil form, his Devil face, but something seemed different there; more animal, less controlled, if the fight for dominance between Lucifer and Devil was anything to show for it.

"Why did you bring us here?" she asked, because it was a valid question. She tried to let it be, trust that it was for a reason, but there was only so much trust she could muster. Walking through Hell with the Devil by your side didn't instill a lot of security. She still couldn't believe it. Almost. The creature made it a little more believable. Only a little. It wasn't anything like any movie, book, or TV show had ever depicted of Hell. There was no fire (that she could see), it was far from a blazing inferno, and there were no signs of tortured souls or blood-lusting demons. Not that she knew what demons looked like. Except for Maze, but she figured any of Lucifer's close consorts would be an exception to the rule. It might had been the shock of everything, but the fact of being in Hell, by Lucifer's account, didn't horrify her in the way it probably should have.

She blamed the company for the ignorant blissfulness of her situation.

"I didn't bring us anywhere," he replied bitterly, as if the insinuation was offensive. What else could he expect her to think? There were times when it was clearer just how _not_ human he was; when there were misunderstandings that he just couldn't fathom. He was good at playing human, even if he didn't call it that. However, his vast knowledge of all time and creation made him ignorant to the extent of beliefs humans, like herself, could imagine.

"Then how did we get here?" she snapped, stopping once again. She was angry. She was scared. She was a toxic mix of fear and overwhelmed, and her patience for his waltzing around the truth was as thin as his ability to accept himself. "Why are we in fucking Hell, Lucifer?"

Lucifer glared at her, fiery eyes, even more bright and commanding in the dark surroundings, boring into her head, making her knees weak for many reasons that she would rather not admit. He was crowding her space in a fraction of a second, hand pushing up against her mouth, large and rough against soft, plush flesh. Her back slammed into the jagged rock behind her, and she scrunched her eyes with a grunt, feeling his hips make contact with her stomach. When she opened her eyes, painfully looking up, unable to lift her chin to assist her, he was towering over her. Larger, broader, hotter; an aura of danger and temptation. If that was what it was like to be threatened by royalty, she understood all those that put themselves at risk for noble attention.

"Keep your fucking voice down," he growled, lowly but no less authoritative. She breathed heavily through her nose as he looked around them, the vast expanse of nothingness, and endless wasteland of black rock and grey ash. Where were all the souls? Where was all the suffering? Where was all the eternal damnation in fire she learned about through religious friends growing up? His voice brought her out of the downward spiral of thoughts; pulled her free of an imminent panic. "Hell is more ancient than I am," he started, voice still quiet and raspy. He lowered his head, so his mouth was closer to her ear, and he made no attempt to back off of her, and she didn't try to push him away. "There are more beasts than I can account for. More horrors that I never controlled."

Her breathing grew harder, harsh pants through her nose and she could feel her eyes wide, doing their best to look up at the mountain of Lucifer in front of her. It was weird hearing him talk with his voice distorted, watching him move like half-divinity, half-monster. His face was grounding. Regardless of the red flickering up his jaw, regardless of the glowing ember eyes. The set to his shoulders was all him, the stance of pride and sureness. He knew who he was, he knew what he was, and he was unapologetic for it. It could be something to admire in a man, even if he wasn't one.

"I earned the demons respect, after some time, but not all those that dwell here accepted me as their ruler," he continued, eyes roaming what was still exposed of her face, and his hand moved softly above her mouth, like a caress. "We're not safe here." The _do you understand_ was silent, not needing to be said, and she nodded her head the best she could, lips pressing together beneath his palm. He raised an eyebrow, an acknowledgment of her acknowledgment, and he slowly took his hand off of her mouth, dragging her bottom lip down, exposing teeth, and she heard the faintest of growls from the back of his throat.

It was there. The tension. That vibrating electricity they always had, regardless of their feelings, that buzzing was always there. She studied his face, the red coals of his eyes, inviting and destructive, the scarred red dancing over his jaw, meeting his stubble and disappearing into a face she'd remember blinded. His chest, even broader than before, was directly in front of her. She could stick her tongue out and trace the line where smooth tan met mangled crimson through the open collar of his shirt. She was about to do it, about to close the small distance and press her lips to an ancient pulse hammering in a perfect cage that only sin itself could hold.

Then he was gone. Heat pulled away like a setting sun. It left her breathless, dizzy, and no less full of excitable energy that swayed toward fright. "I'll answer your questions, Detective, but we shouldn't bring attention to ourselves. We're in the outskirts. The Wilds of Hell, if you will."

She understood that. It made sense. It was desolate, dreary, and gave off a sense of unease and dread. A place where what you couldn't see was worse than what you could. "Okay," she answered softly, timidly, inhaling a shaky breath before peeling herself from the cold stone behind her. She walked next to him, missing the gun on her hip, unsure if it would even help there.

"You asked why we were here, how we got here," he affirmed after a brief moment of silence. It was eerily quiet. No evidence of anything. She couldn't even hear their footsteps through the blanket of ash on the ground. "A demon possessed you mere seconds after you entered The Mayan, I couldn't get her out, so I called for help. Help found it best to send us here." He said the last part bitterly, as if it hadn't been the only option. "I told you not to come. That wasn't just a petty _you're not invited_ statement."

It was like every threat of tension between them released, like it loosened and the haze of want and need for everything he was washed out of her mind, only barely noticeable in her peripherals. "You're shitting me."

**0o0o0o0**

She looked at him incredulously, like demon possession was so unlikely in a world where angels and demons were the least of your concern. Where God and his rebellious son were the right and the wrong end of humanity's blame. He saw something else on her features, something other than the smart vigilance and worry between her brows. It was anger, disappointment, hurt; everything she had always looked at him with. So few times had she ever looked at him with softness in her eyes. It wasn't her fault. Lucifer was never a thing to look softly at. Since his creation, he was always something to squint at, the too-bright of his personality turning to the sour-faced disgust of his Fallen self.

He did what he had always done: deflected the pain and put on the humored mask. "I can assure you, I'm not. I forbade it ages ago, but –"

"You haven't been here," she interrupted, turning her attention to the unchanging landscape in front of them. "You've been up _there_. Fucking off."

"For lack of a better term, yes," he responded defensively, clenching his jaw in hopes of controlling the thin line of his temper. Hell brought out the worst in him; it brought out the worst in everyone. Chloe couldn't know that. It would seem like an excuse for whatever he said, or did, for their safety. It shouldn't be. Not for him. He lost his right to a scapegoat from the moment the fruit left his hand.

"Just ducking out of responsibility," she chastised, quickening her pace without realizing. "Hell doesn't seem like something you can just _hope_ will behave accordingly when Teacher leaves the room."

"It's not like this was my choice, Detective," he countered, voice rising in volume just slightly. "I didn't _choose_ to command parts of this place. I didn't _choose_ to be here, I wasn't _meant_ to be here." He looked around them, eyes narrowing as if trying to see something that wasn't there, as if hearing something inaudible.

"Weren't you?" she asked, and she didn't have to raise her hand to motion to him. He knew what she meant. He knew what she was implying with that question. Yes. He did look like he belonged there; burned and grotesque, fire for eyes, heart pumping wrath instead of blood. It didn't make it hurt any less. He opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it. Changing the subject. A mercy. "So, if you didn't bring us here, then who did?"

He swallowed down the words he would have spoken, letting them slide down his throat to sit, repulsively, in his stomach. He couldn't be mad, not really. Not when he looked like something that belonged in the land full of rejects and failures. "My bother. I dared to pray to him and _this_ was his answer."

"Why would Amenadiel do this?" she asked, and a chill ran down her spine. She rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to stifle the chill, her teeth beginning to chatter surprisingly. It worried her, the chattering. It didn't feel nearly cold enough, and she was beginning to think it was instinctual, like her body was telling her to be afraid.

"It wasn't him," Lucifer corrected, looking over her in direction, taking in her visible tremors, looking around them more frantically. "It was Michael. It's his thing. ' _Leading Heavenly armies to defeat Lucifer and all that is evil,'_ yadda yadda."

Chloe stopped, but Lucifer quickly reached over and grasped her hand, fitting it nicely into his huge palm, comfortable, warm, and protective. He kept them walking, not looking back at her, just looking around, scanning above and below. "Michael? As in –"

"Big, blonde, and belligerent? That's the one," Lucifer answered flatly, his grip on her hand tightening.

"I don't understand," Chloe started, trying to stop, trying to get his attention. She was tired of feeling out-of-the-loop. She had been for years with him. She wanted answers. She didn't need to be protected from the truth any longer. She opened her mouth to say something, but Lucifer turned, a single red finger pressed to his lips, eyes wide, pleading her to be quiet.

"Something is here," Lucifer said, like the nothingness around them had changed, had indicated something was afoot. As if on cue, large wisps of black and grey flew in the air around them, howling, lightly, like far-away screams falling from a cliff. There were too many to keep track of, and Chloe tried to spin around, to get a better look at the numbers, but Lucifer kept her still. He remained still, just watching, calculating, deciding if the ghoulish shadows meant to cause them harm of not.

Suddenly, images began flashing in front of them, like silhouettes with details, as clear as visions in a dream. The images were of him and Chloe, yelling and screaming that first time in her house. The start of their relationship treading the dangerous waters it was currently wading in. It showed them fucking on the ground, against the wall, blood staining clean surfaces. It showed them in Lucifer's penthouse, with a knife in his shoulders, with her writhing in his lap. There was laughter, but it didn't belong to either of them, and then there were images that hadn't seemed to be real

She saw herself, dancing and grinding against faceless men, Lucifer sitting in a dark corner, watching, betrayal and hatred in his eyes. Lucifer glanced over to her, eyes radiating concern, and all she could do was barely acknowledge his presence, too consumed by what the wisps were showing her. The murals in motion changed again, showing short glimpses of her father getting shot in the Korean sandwich shop, no less shocking, of her mother micromanaging her early acting career, of Chloe filming the topless scene in Hot Tub High School. It showed the hands on her younger body, ones she did not ask for, hands that Lucifer heard her plead to get off of her.

His hand gripped hers harder, his face looked a terrifying mix of sympathetic and angry. It was something she had never told him, never told anyone. He started to pull her in, as if to shield her from more and more of their worst memories, but as he reached out with his other arm, a faint scream caught her attention.

**0o0o0o0**

**[[The Devil]](https://youtu.be/yE9jQfe5x14) **

" _Mommy!"_ the familiar voice sobbed, hiccupping in its terror. Chloe froze, eyes widening, heart stopping for a second before beating furiously inside her chest. She was shivering harder than before, but she hardly noticed, not when _that_ voice sounded so scared.

"Chloe –" Lucifer started, trying to grab her attention, but she hardly heard him, not when the voice started up again.

" _Mommy! Help! They're hurting me!"_

"Trixie?!" Chloe cried, tearing free of Lucifer's hold, turning around in a blind panic, but she didn't see anything. She saw nothing but grey ash and black stone; the occasional wisp in her peripheral.

" _MOMMY!"_ Trixie's voice screamed, sounding strangled and pained, and Chloe's hands flew up to her head in terrorized frustration.

"Trixie? Trixie!" she called-out, feeling nauseated by the cold pit in her stomach. She could hear Lucifer trying to get her attention, trying to reach out for her, but she dodged his attempts, only able to focus on the singular task of finding her daughter. The practicality of the situation didn't dawn on her. It wouldn't. A mother hearing their child's voice was real enough. No amount of pragmatism could stop her from trying to find the source.

She didn't have to search for long, though. Trixie was in front of them in a blink of an eye. Fully formed, the right height and size. The eye color was perfect, the facial expressions. It was Trixie. It _had_ to be. There were tears staining her cheeks, her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, and her hair was a mess. Chloe's heart dropped to her stomach as she took a step forward. Lucifer was behind her in a second, reaching for her shoulder, but she ignored it.

Chloe hadn't seen anything change, but a warm burst of liquid sprayed her face, feeling like a mist from a hot spring. She licked her lips and tasted pennies, bright and metallic, and when she looked back up at Trixie, she saw that her daughter's throat had been cut. Her head was barely hanging on, tears still falling up her face from where her head was upside-down against her chest, a twisted hunk of skin holding it there.

"Mommy, why aren't you helping me?" the upside-down mouth of Trixie's head trembled-out. Chloe felt herself heave, a retch of her stomach trying to expel anything inside her. Nothing came out, nothing but blood-laden saliva, and Chloe forced herself to look back up through tear-filled eyes. Suddenly, a wisp flew by, tugging at Trixie's arm until it was torn from her body, blood flowing out of the stump at her shoulder, screams and cries echoing in the vast void.

"No! No! Trixie!" Chloe screamed, and when she lunged to grab the girl, there was nothing to hold on to, Trixie has moved to the side, out of reach. Always _just_ out of reach. "Lucifer, please! Do something! Please!" She begged him, crying, tears free-flowing, and she couldn't remember ever feeling so terrified. Trixie was starting to scream, and then Lucifer was behind the girl, staring as Chloe with evil intent in his brown eyes. She saw him, yet she could feel him behind her, feel his heat, his warmth, but what her eyes could see she refused to believe as false. Lucifer smiled from behind Trixie wickedly, hands running from her narrow shoulders down her arms. Trixie was crying even louder, and then one of his hands disappeared, and then Trixie was screaming, shrill and strangled.

Chloe choked on a sob when one of his hands punched through her daughter's stomach, tearing through entrails and organs, spilling immeasurable amounts of blood onto the ashen ground. Chloe fell to her knees, fists pounding the ground as she was hopeless in helping her daughter. She continued to watch through blurred vision as Lucifer tore the girl apart, two hands inside her, tearing at her ribs and snapping bone and sinew until Trixie's body split in two, leaving Lucifer, covered in her blood, standing and sneering. Her throat felt raw with the intensity of her screams, and then she felt warm, strong arms wrap around her. She tried to fight it off, tried to thrash out of the hold, but Lucifer was strong, and she was just a human.

She gave-up, sobbing painfully into the iron grip around her. She could hear murmuring in her ear, but she couldn't make out the words. She was trying to forget the sound of Trixie's screams, but it was like the noise was playing on repeat in her brain. Like she wasn't going to have any relief from hearing a sound so traumatizing.

"It isn't real," the voice broke through the cries, soft and determined. "It's not real, I promise, Chloe. It's not real. She isn't here." She couldn't stop crying, but, for some unknown reason, she believed his voice. She believed the arms around her, holding her, shielding her away from the nightmare. She believed in the deep timbre of a familiar voice, distorted by darkness, but the tears wouldn't stop coming, her breath wasn't any easier to catch, and her heart wouldn't stop pounding in her chest. It wasn't until she heard Lucifer's voice, sounding farther away than the arms around her could allow, along with another male voice.

She looked up, blinking away tears, to see Lucifer on his knees, bleeding from the corner of an eye, nose, and mouth. His features were all the same, but he looked different, younger, if not be years but by lack of fear and abandonment. There was someone in front of him, another angel, huge and adorned by golden armor that shone like the sun. She had to squint, it was the brightest thing she had seen since regaining consciousness. The arms around her turned rigid, keeping her held against a warm, solid body. Lucifer was behind her; what she was seeing, what _they_ were seeing was another illusion. Another way Hell drove the occupants crazy, Devil or not.

She couldn't see him, but she could feel the hot pants of his breath against her neck, the way his body slightly trembled behind her. It was hard for him to watch, it had to be, as his past self pleaded with the other angel, and then there was a roar before a spear was shoved through the illusion of Lucifer on his knees. Chloe gasped, watching as that Lucifer looked up at the other in shock and anger. The other angel pulled the spear free with a gruesome, wet sliding sound, and then kicked Lucifer, making the figures disappear. They were quickly replaced by images of her and Lucifer, standing side by side. Eerily still. They were both smiling, and it was sinister, unnatural, and it made Chloe's blood run cold.

Chloe forced the arms around her to loosen, and she moved enough away to peer at Lucifer behind her. His glowing eyes were just as wide, and he looked just as concerned as she felt. Their figures looked at each other, still smiling like they knew something that their real selves didn't. There was a flash of movement, a barely comprehensible sliver of time that forced her breath to hitch, before the projected Lucifer had his hand buried in the imagined Chloe's chest. They were both smiling, gleefully, and when Lucifer pulled out her still beating heart and took a bite out of it like a juicy apple, blood collecting in the corners of his mouth, the Chloe laughed and cheered. He groaned at the taste, looking at her like she was the sun itself.

Chloe turned, stunned, to see Lucifer's mouth parted in shock and horror. His eyes turned to her, wide and flickering flames, and he shook his head. He didn't know either. Their attention was brought back to their Hellish selves by a fit of giggles from the pair. Chloe had her hand in his chest then, but when she pulled it back out, her hand held a small black lump of coal, coated in a dark blood. She looked at it, disappointed, and the phantasmagoric Lucifer started apologizing, profusely, and started reaching inside of himself, pulling out organs and entrails as an offering, to make-up for his lack of heart. That Chloe laughed as he did it, mocked as everything he gave her was still not enough. He fell to his knees, bodily contents spilled and wasted on the ashen ground. His Chloe bent down, running her bloodied hands through his hair before kissing him, the open hole in her chest dripping with blood and torn skin.

It was horrifying, the brutality and the truth of it all. It made her feel open and raw, not unlike the gaping wound on the illusion-Chloe's chest. When she glanced back at Lucifer, he looked lost, broken, destroyed even, like the truth hit him harder. Like he hated to see just how desperate he could be. She reached out for him, hoping that maybe a brief touch could soothe the ache she know he felt. She hoped that a quick squeeze to his red and mangled hand could show him a bit of kindness in an infinite lifetime of pain and suffering.

**[[The Prophet]](https://youtu.be/f6x0XTcWQNg) **

Hell had other plans.

Just as he should have been able to feel the warmth of her skin above his, an echo of a booming voice rang out around them. No figure in sight; their illusioned selves gone, off consuming each other until one or both of them was vanquished. The voice continued, speaking in a tongue that Chloe could not place. It was foreign, ancient sounding, like all those movies involving civilizations with languages the modern human couldn't even try to replicate. The voice seemed to push Lucifer into action, and he pulled her up to her feet before starting on a brisk pace towards a larger set of stony cliffs.

"What is that?" she asked, voice weary and jolted from the long, fast steps Lucifer was making her take.

"A _fucking_ Horsemen," Lucifer hissed, startling when a bell began to chime. It sounded like an old church bell from a cathedral, if that cathedral had been abandoned and decrepit, and only sounded a death toll.

"What?" she asked again, breathing labored once they started jogging. She couldn't stop the fear from making her feel clammy and sickly. Lucifer looked frightened by the voice, by whoever the voice belonged to.

"Yes, one of the four," he replied, pulling Chloe into a narrow canyon between two giant cliff formations. It was a squeeze, but the other end was closed off, and he shoved her into the small space first, so that he was closest to the only entrance. She was able to slide in, not without feeling claustrophobic as the walls pressed against her back and chest. Lucifer managed to wedge himself inside, but she could see that his right shoulder was left exposed.

Once she was able to catch her breath, assess the dire situation they were in if anything did find them, he spoke again. "The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse," he said, eyes an even brighter, deeper red in the darkened air between them. "They reside here, in Hell, when they're not out destroying the world with famine, disease, and war."

Chloe swallowed. She had heard of them, mostly in stories about the Antichrist bringing on the Rapture, but what she did know about them was frightening. They rode on horses, wreaking havoc to the land until all was dead and empty. "What do they do here?"

Lucifer looked down at her, brows knitting together as the bells grew louder, as the voice sounded more and more aggressive. "They're, essentially, bounty hunters here. Mercenaries. They mostly find rogue demons, wandering souls, estranged Angel rulers," he added, shrugging when her eyes widened in the dim light.

"Do you know who it is?" she asked, if only to keep her mind occupied rather than think about a bounty hunter from Hell after them.

"The White Rider," Lucifer whispered, turning his head in the direction of the opening, watching as a new wind starting rustling the settled dust on the ground. "Conquest." He awkwardly lifted his hand, pressing a finger to his lips, showing her the universal _shhh_ for the second time since they arrived there. As if on cue, the sounds of hooves running grew louder, the winning and neighing of the horse as it slowed to a comfortable walk. Lucifer as deep a breath as the narrow space allowed, and Chloe found herself trying to press impossibly close against him.

"What does it want?" she whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. He looked at her from the corner of his eye, pressing his lips together. He shook his head, not in a refusal to answer, but in a way that told her it wasn't the time. Not with the _White Rider_ close by. Not when they could hear his horse grunting and blowing through his lips; the clinks of the metal bridal uncomfortably wedged behind his teeth. The muted clicking of hooves on dusted ground suddenly stopped, nothing but hushed whispers of something moving, looking. There was a loud hiss, words spoken in that language that she could not understand no place. She looked over at Lucifer, who had his eyes closed and was cursing to himself. Dread set into her bones further, making her cold, replacing marrow with crystalized fear.

The silence continued to stretch on, agonizingly tense, and all Chloe could hear were her own shaky breaths and Lucifer's deep, readying ones. He leaned his head back against the wall and sighed, and she knew then that it was a forfeiture to the inevitable. "Whatever happens," he started, and he didn't even bother quieting his voice below a level tone. He opened his eyes, blazing, and the fire in them seemed to try to hide. She looked back, eyes wide, taking in all she could; of Lucifer, his skin like a patchwork of tan and scarred crimson, his hands monstrous, white shirt covered in blood, both his and other creatures'. The picture he created made the worry on his features even more sobering. "Stay hidden. We can't let it take us."

He barely got his sentence out, she hardly had the chance to process it before the snapping sound of a bow string could be heard, before the loud whistle of a missile sounded through the air. Before a giant arrow lodged itself into the meat of Lucifer's leg and he was yanked out of the narrow, stone passage by the rope attached to the arrow, pulling him towards the archer. She slapped her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screaming, even though it was pointless. They had been found. She could hear the dragging sounds of Lucifer's body against ashen ground, and she watched from the shelter of black stone as he was pulled, struggling, towards a massive figure on a gargantuan, white horse.

She slid herself closer to the mouth of the canyon, torn between running out in a fit of bravery or staying put; what Lucifer told her to do, what she truly _should_ do. She was out of her element; well out of her element, but the idea of hiding alone sounded more horrifying than risking capture. Steeling her nerves with a deep breath, she shook the cold out of her hands, blood rushing warmth into the tips of each finger before stepping out of the proverbial safety of the chasm.

**0o0o0o0**

**[[Death Mask]](https://youtu.be/C0li4N9EQY4) **

He didn't have time to yell when the arrow shot into the meat of his thigh before he was pulled out of the narrow space, body scraping along jagged stone, tearing flesh and clothing even more. He was glad that Chloe had looked scared enough to listen to him. He hadn't realized the arrow was like a giant tether to the aggressor, not until he was being dragged by the rod through his leg. The pain was overwhelming, but he had been through worse. So much worse.

It was hard to get his bearings while being pulled on the ground, ash billowing up around him, but he managed to grab hold of the rope, wrapping it around his hand and wrist for the best grip. He would have to try to control the speed, but overpowering the White Rider would be difficult. It was a large being, but it was still lesser than himself in the hierarchy of his Father's creations. Lucifer shoved his uninured leg down, foot digging into the ground, carving out a hollow of his heel and he tried to slow himself down. It was working until the Horseman caught on to his antics and used his horse's strength to assist in bringing Lucifer to him.

Lucifer struggled some more, the rope digging into his hand and wrist, his wounded leg throbbing in pain with every minute movement. He pulled with all his might, and he was able to regain some length of the rope, and he scurried back as fast as he could, buying himself some time to disengage from the tether. He was like a leashed stray, doing everything he could to escape the tie to his captor. He felt the pull on the other end, a mere ten feet (3 meters) away, could see the details in his metal armor, could see the steam from the white horse's mouth and nose. Frenzied, he reached down and tried to snap the arrow at the base of the entry wound, so he'd no longer be tied to the Horseman, but the rod barely bent beneath his hand. It hurt more to try and break it, but it was his only chance. If the Rider got him in his hands, on his horse, Lucifer would be going wherever it had been hired to take him. So would Chloe.

He used both hands, the one with a gunshot wound through it breaking open a scab and oozing fresh blood, trying to keep himself still with one foot dug into the ground like a flesh-and-bone kickstand, but the Rider was beginning to overpower him. He grunted under the strain, using all of his might to break the arrow, noticing the smooth surface to be a bone, most likely belonging to a creature of Hell. The Rider started pulling harder, and the flesh around the arrow was beginning to stretch and tear anew, and Lucifer cried out as rivulets of blood stung the wound. He nearly had the arrow broken, the crackles and pops weakening the strength of the bone, when the pulling stopped, when the Rider's attention was no longer on himself, instead was pointed up towards where he came from.

He turned his head to look over his shoulder, behind himself, and he watched as Chloe's form emerged in the distance. The not-far-enough-away distance. Lucifer shot his eyes back to the Rider, and the Rider was already looking at him again. Lucifer couldn't see its face, but he knew it had to be smiling, had to be leering at the situation. It seemed to know, after all, that Lucifer's priorities were not just with himself. They stared at each other, dull armor helmet and wide, ember eyes, and then the Rider kicked his horse into action, and they were off. The slack in the rope was quickly pulled tight, and Lucifer yelled in pain as his entire body was shifted and yanked back to being pulled behind the sprinting horse.

One of the many voices in his head was nagging at him relentlessly. _You shouldn't have left her. You should have stayed. She shouldn't be here. You failed. You can't keep her safe. You don't deserve her._ It was right, of course, but the anxiety of her vulnerability allowed him to drown it out in screams of agony and desperation. He had to change tactics. It was the only way he could get on a level playing field with the Horseman. Instead of trying to pull the lead free from the Rider, he started using the rope to pull himself closer. They were nearly to where Chloe was, and he couldn't see her through the cloud of ash, but that meant the Rider couldn't either. He used the last heavenly cell in his body to pray for her, ashamed to do such a thing but too concerned to care.

He pulled himself to the horse's feet, each hoof the width of his head, and he grabbed one of the legs, holding on while he was jostled around with the horse's running. The beast tried to kick him off, the Rider looked over his shoulder and pulled on the reigns, stopping the horse in its tracks. Lucifer slammed into its hindquarters, falling to the ground and landing on the arrow, shoving it farther into his leg. He cried out, throwing his head back at the pain, but when he looked down he saw that the arrow had splintered, and he was able to break it free and pull the ends out of the wound. He was pouring blood out of the tunnel carved through the thick muscle of his thigh, but he had a rope, and an arrowhead.

Lucifer was creative in his ability to cause pain with simple things. Being thrown into a pit of things wanting to kill you or own you could do that to a living creature.

Rising up on his knees, favoring the one without a gaping hole, he shoved the tip of the spear into the left hip of the huge horse, and the beast lifted itself onto its hind legs, kicking the air, crying out in shock and pain. The Rider was experienced and held on to the bucking beast, pulling the reins to control its steed. The horse moved to its front legs, lifting the strong back one and kicked Lucifer square in the chest. It sent him flying back a few feet, all the air knocked out of his lungs, bruised chest aching with every attempt at breathing. He was on his back, clutching his chest and his leg and when he turned his head to see the Horseman, he could see Chloe at the mouth of the chasm, he could see her wide eyes, all blue and white, her mouth was open, and she was yelling.

Lucifer rolled over to his side, a painful breath rattling into his lungs; he couldn't speak, but he tried to get her attention, tried to just look at her and hope she could see the fear in his eyes, could see the way the glow in them was more wildfire than controlled flame. The Rider hopped off its horse, suit of armor clunking heavily with every step. It was called Conquest for a reason, and it didn't stop until it won. He could see that Chloe was still yelling, as if she were trying to get its attention, but she didn't know. She didn't know that as soon as it was done with Lucifer, it would gather her up like a helpless baby bird, fallen from the nest, featherless and soft.

The White Rider walked leisurely over to Lucifer, enormous, metal feet stepping to straddle over his hips. He sighed a breath of relief that it had come to him, but it was short lived, once the Rider managed to wrestle the broken arrow from Lucifer's fist, it placed its armored knees on either side of Lucifer's shoulder, pinning him down. Lucifer felt a massive, hardened fist hit him squarely in the face, blood pooling into his mouth from his nose, stunning him. The second blow was directly to his mouth, lips splitting instantly over his sharper teeth. It was harder to pull his arms free, with his left shoulder still wounded from the bullet, but he managed to get his right arm free, holding it up to block the next punch.

He groaned, gritting his teeth as he struggled to keep the large fist from making contact again. His left arm was wedged between the Rider's knee and Lucifer's own torso, and no amount of struggle was setting it free. It seemed he forgot that the Horseman had another arm, and he was taken aback when he received a hammer fist to the side of his head. Ringing, and the vibrations from the blow buzzed in his head, and for a brief moment, he wasn't sure if he were still awake or imagining what he saw. In a daze, he saw Chloe's form emerge from behind the Rider, holding a rock the size of a football over her head. She slammed it down over the Horseman's helmet, taking it by surprise, forcing it to crouch down lower over Lucifer.

Blood still seeped from his nose, and he tried to keep himself from choking on it, but the added weight of the armored being wasn't helpful, and he started to struggle more as he felt the Rider begin to, shakily, stand up, growling. Panic set in, and he watched while his body continued to be uncooperative as Chloe was snatched by the large Horseman. She was held by her throat, barely off the ground, the Rider's arm outstretched to keep her waving arms out of reach, and it brought its other up to his mouth, to call for his horse. Thankful for the adrenaline that even Angels had, Lucifer willed his protesting body into action, sitting up and shaking out the last of the confusion from his brain.

With Chloe wiggling it its grasp, struggling for air, but still alive, Lucifer searched for the broken arrow on the ground, dragging his hands across dirt and clumped bits of blood, until he found it. He staggered over to the Rider and used all of his strength to shove the arrow head under the Rider's arm, a spot left vulnerable from the armor. He felt relieved at the satisfying slide of a pointed tip through flesh as the Rider hissed, dropping Chloe with a thud. It turned to Lucifer, pulling the arrow out of the soft spot between two upper ribs, and tossed it to the ground. Lucifer readied for another attack, but the white horse galloped up and the Horseman was gone in a cloud of mist as soon as it touched the beast.

Lucifer closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he feel to his knees, relieved beyond comprehension. His entire body hurt, the injuries stuck out like painful sores over bruised skin, and his lungs felt like they were near collapse with every ragged breath. He opened his eyes to see Chloe moving to sit up, coughing, bruises forming on her neck, and that sent a hot wave of rage through his body. He calmed it, though, stilling his boiling blood. He didn't have the right to be angry that something touched her. She wasn't his, and she made that painfully clear whenever she had the chance.

With a weary sigh, he placed one fist on the ground, the other on his knee, and heaved himself up, swaying slightly when he was fully upright. He took the few steps over to her, having to catch his breath, and held out his hand. "Why do you _refuse_ to listen to me?" It sounded like an accusation, but he was trying to hide the _why can't you let me keep you safe_ in his voice, in his eyes. The crimson glow helped him with that, at least.

"You're fucking welcome," she spat, although the anger wasn't quite there. She was looking at him the way someone would look at an injured animal on the side of the road, with pity and just enough indifference to keep driving.

He opened his mouth to speak, but found there was no other retort. If she hadn't have intervened, they would both be packaged up on the back of that horse and delivered to the Horseman's temporary employer. "Thank you," he admitted bitterly, the words acridly mixing with the blood on his tongue. It was foolish and dangerous, unnecessary (and he wouldn't allow himself to think too deeply on that) and he had no idea why she would put herself at risk like that, but he was thankful nonetheless. He looked up at him, nodding, and took his offered hand for help up. "Come on," he said, releasing her hand after a few moments too long. "We'll find a place to rest for a few minutes."

**0o0o0o0**

**[Ambient Horror by Dukkha](https://youtu.be/CdeGWJJur00) **

Chloe walked next to him as they hobbled over to the cliffs again. Chloe's ankle had stopped bleeding by then, the tussle with the _not_ werewolf-type creature feeling like it happened an eternity ago. Lucifer was not well-off. She tried to make her glances in his direction subtle, but she took in his bloody nose, mouth, the gunshot wounds to his shoulder and hand, and his leg, which he limped on heavily. She tried to swallow down the fear that if they ran into another threat, they might not make it out of that one. They traveled along the rock until they found a small cave, just enough room to hide them from their surroundings. A small cut-out of make-believe safety.

Lucifer stood at the mouth and waited for Chloe to enter before following her. There was enough space to allow him to stand, but the moment they were in as far as they could get, he sunk down to the ground, back sliding against the rock, exhausted and hurt. She followed suit, wincing when her ankle bent when she lowered herself to the ground, leaning back against the wall opposite of him. Their legs were close but not touching, and it was darker in the shallow cave, the only things she could see clearly were his glowing eyes, the tops of his cheekbones lit by the redness, and the stray bit of his shirt that had valiantly remained white with all the soot and blood on the rest of it.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, after what felt like an eternity of slow blinks that felt like micro-naps, of deep breaths trying to refill stunned lungs and calm pounding hearts. His legs were straight, stretched out in front of him, and his arms were limp down by his sides, hands almost palms-up on the ground. She had never seen him look so weary, so human, despite the contradicting features he wore then.

"Seems like I should be asking you that," she replied, trying for a small half-smile that she wasn't sure if he could see or not. He chuckled at that, the glow disappearing and reappearing in another one of his long, tired blinks. It was strange, how such a horrible situation could bring together the most corrosive of people, working together instead of against. Trying to help rather than trying to harm.

"I mean about everything you've seen," he corrected, the difference of his voice, the deeper, gritty sound, more prominent in the slight echo of the cave. Of their hide-out. "It's a lot, even for the strongest of people."

She let that sink in for a few minutes, the words travel through her mind, over everything she'd seen, _they'd_ seen and been through. It was a lot, and something akin to pity and understanding formed in her chest when she looked at him again. "Is that what this is?" she asked softly, swallowing thickly. "Nothing but insanity and horror?"

He hummed at her questions, an agreeing sound, one that sounded sad and too old for someone who looked as young as he did. "The pain and the torment is here, of course. What humanity expects of Hell. The fire and the eternal suffering, but it almost seems like mercy compared to the torture on your soul out here, doesn't it?"

She hated how sensible he could sound, when he wanted to. She wondered where he learned that from; the ability to be both ignorant and wise, to be both cynic and child. It seemed like the best time to let him rest a bit more. She wasn't in the position to try to comfort him, not after everything they had done to each other, but she could give him the kindness of solitude. She watched as he leaned his head back against the stone, sighing deeply, his shoulders just barely lowering from their tense state. She closed her eyes then, feeling a sense of security that she didn't want to analyze at that moment. She must have fallen asleep, because instead of a horror of images flashing behind her closed eyes, she felt nothing, saw nothing, heard nothing but the deep rumbling of Lucifer's breathing from the short distance to the other wall.

Surprisingly, she didn't startle awake, and she wasn't sure how long she had actually been asleep. She had come back to consciousness rather gently, given the circumstances, and Lucifer didn't acknowledge her sleeping if he had noticed. She felt better, invigorated, ready to take on whatever was left before they could get home. _If_ they could get home, and that was the bitch of it. The fact she thought of it as their home, not just hers. She realized that she considered Lucifer to be an inhabitant of Earth more than of Hell. No one deserved such a place as Hell. Well, she could name some, but so could everyone else.

She went to speak, but her mouth and throat were dry, and she started coughing before a word could be uttered. Lucifer's head snapped to her face, and he raised a hand like he was reaching out to her, but then he lowered it. She couldn't miss the concern in his eyes, and that made her feel things she didn't want to think about. She held up her hand, signaling that she was okay, and he seemed to relax at that. She was beyond thirsty, hungry, but she knew better than to ask where they could find some sustenance in a place like Hell. She wouldn't be that naïve to their predicament.

"Can I ask you something?" she finally got out, clearing her scratchy throat and pushing herself away from the wall. She scooted forward, pulling her knees to her chest, getting closer to him but not touching. She wanted to see him when she asked her question. He nodded, barely, and she noticed the way his features were set hard, like he was waiting to be admonished. "You can't control most of it, can you?"

His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline in surprise, like he was impressed that she seemed to notice. "If you're talking about Hell, in the grand scheme of it, I command a very small part, the inner circles, where the catacombs are. Where the souls are kept," he stated, and the truth of it was clear in how stoic he sounded. It wasn't the speech of a King proud of his rule, it was that of someone carrying the burden of such lands hard on his shoulders. "If you're talking about the White Rider, then no. It, like the other three Horsemen, are of my Father's creation. They merely tolerate my presence down here, if the literal beat-down didn't make that obvious," he added, a sad chuckle at the end.

It was in his admittance that Chloe realized one thing: Lucifer wasn't some tyrannical Ruler of Hell. He was more of a coerced commander of an unruly, sadistic army. He was Atlas, holding the weight of all sin on his back, just looking for a moment of reprieve. Something shifted then, something in the air between them, and he felt it to, if the way he looked at her from nervous eyes, perhaps afraid of what she thought of him, if it could be any worse than he already, fairly, assumed she felt. It was one thing to be considered the King of all Hell, it was another to be shown for more a Duke of an area rather than the whole land.

"That's why it's rather unfortunate that we were brought out here," he said, taking her away from her running thoughts. "However, I'm certain it was purposeful. My brother is more for theatrics than I am."

"You asked your family for help," Chloe stated, remembering their earlier conversation, one that seemed like a life-time ago. At the time, it hadn't seemed so significant, but since they had rested, since she had let her mind stop and reboot, she was able to see it in a different light. A dark filter, covering all the positive reasons for such an act, showing only the deepest truths of it. "For me."

She heard the click of his throat when he swallowed. Watched as his face turned down and he started to fidget with a torn end of his shirt. "Yes," he answered quietly, not making eye contact, keeping them turned down, illuminating the blood stains and the shape of his chest beneath the tattered material.

She moved closer, crunching up next to his hips, slowly reaching a hand out to place gently on his thigh. He jumped at the touch, not from the pain, although she could feel the swollen, injured flesh beneath damp, torn fabric from where the arrow went through and wreaked havoc. "You hate your family."

He looked up with his eyes, chin still close to his chest, but what she saw there was raw and pure. He open and vulnerable, just like she was, and it was always like that between them, harsh or not. They made each other vulnerable; open to whatever torture, sweet or brutal, the other was willing to dish-out. It made her chest ache, and she wondered what parts of him ached beyond the physical ailments.

"Most of them, yes," he said, just as softly, his lips parted like he just couldn't get enough air with them closed. "But I don't hate you." He said quietly, breath barely audible, and she just knew the _I'd do anything for you_ was caught in this throat. He didn't need to say it. She could see it in his eyes. The devotion, the willing servitude, the inability to find enough swords to fall on for her.

And the thing was… she felt the same. There weren't enough broken hallelujahs she could sing to him, not enough praises for being so perfectly imperfect. For the sweet violence they could share, because he could only bleed for her, and that was the only way to show it.

"I don't hate you, either." Her voice was soft, shaky, and her eyes were wet and glistening in the dark, and she hoped there was a red hue to them from his eyes, that he could see the small part of himself he had buried in her. She leaned forward, and he remained still, watching her with anticipation and restraint. She took a breath between dry lips, hovering over his mouth, and then closed the distance. A press of dry, chapped, blood-crusted skin.

It was all that was unsaid in what was said that meant everything. The echoed breaths of two lovers in a wasteland, of two lovers without another chance but the brief reprieve of dark stone as shelter. The desperation of two lovers knowing the end would not be in their favor. How could it? Black holes and dead stars could swallow life whole, but they were left cold and in the dark once the feast was over.

**[[You Are so Beautiful]](https://youtu.be/JQ8zWIQFRWI) **

The kiss was chaste, tame, to start, but it quickly turned frenzied once she heard the softest of moans escape his lips when they were briefly separated. It made her feel hungry, made her feel angry that she wasn't already on top of him. She ached, so deep, and he was the only way to stop it; he was the only way to hurt. She moved, more frantically than she should in that small of a space, in that close proximity to someone suffering numerous injuries. If he cared, he didn't show it, instead his hands gripped her hips as she slid onto his lap, large, gnarled hands squeezing their way up her waist, up until one could cup the back of her head, the other pressing flat between her shoulder blades, taking up the expanse of cloth-covered skin.

She whimpered into his mouth, pained and tearful, struck by the fact that it wasn't heated words or disgust that brought them together in a sick pile of carnal desire. She felt that her eyes were open to him for the first time; she saw what she was supposed to see, what she used to see before she actually _saw_. She saw a man with a complicated past, with a family that seemed hell-bent on making him pay for a single act of rebellion for the rest of his life. She saw a man deeply misunderstood, using whatever he could to fill the void of care and acceptance in his heart. She saw someone so burdened with responsibility they didn't want, filled with rage that they were never taught to control. She saw how human the Devil really was, how he was more at home with his Father's creations than he was with his own kind. She saw someone searching for something, someone who had found that something, someone who would do _anything_ to keep that something.

What was so wrong with that?

She sucked on his lower lip before pulling back, smiling at the way he tried to chase after her, eyes closed, lips wet and swollen. When he opened his eyes, fiery and burning with a new vigor, she almost forgot what she had wanted to say. Like a moth coming out of the trance of the flame, she licked her lips and inhaled. Readying. "You're beautiful," she blurted, soft and breathy, and a noise got caught high in his throat, his brows knitting together, at a loss for words. That was what she had hoped for; she didn't want him trying to argue it. "All of you, every part of you, is beautiful."

He sucked in a breath and held it, eyes darting side to side as if he were trying to process some complex equation. Like he couldn't believe she had said what she said, and that was the tragedy. She opened her mouth to say it again, but he lunged forward, capturing her lips and shoving his tongue as far into her mouth as he could. She could feel the sharp edges of his teeth, a different sensation from the other times they had kissed, when he wasn't as changed, but it was no less _Lucifer_. There was a noise rumbling in his chest, and she recognized it as part of his different voice, as a more Devilish tone, and it made her all the more wanting.

She felt strong arms wrap around her back, pulling her in, and when she placed her palms on his chest, sliding them out to broader shoulders, she felt the tear of fabric and the hole on the left. He barely flinched when her fingers slid over the wound, already starting to scab over, and when her middle pointer finger just lightly breached the open, round edge, he groaned into her mouth, filling her lungs with him. Without breaking the kiss, he brought one hand up to that wrist, pulling her hand away before separating from her mouth. They panted into the small space, foreheads pressed together, and she looked him right in the eyes as he brought her fingers up to his lips, his own blood mixing with the dried mess she had rehydrated, and sucked them into his mouth. She bit her lip, but he held up his other hand, letting her balance in his lap, and she grabbed that wrist, looking at the hole in his palm, just closed enough to where she couldn't see through it.

Without looking away, she brought his hand to her mouth, and licked every elongated finger, feeling the scared, textured skin on each. His eyes darkened to an even bolder shade of crimson, the yellow and orange radiating brighter as she licked her way down to his palm before licking a long, wide stripe over the wound. He moaned, and she could feel the vibrations on his tongue against her fingers, she could taste the sweet, metallic flavor of him in her mouth, and it was so different that way. It was a strange connection, but the moment seemed profound. Her fingers in his mouth, her tongue against an open wound, tasting the ichor that flowed so easily through his veins, a powerful elixir that no other mortal could gain access to.

He tasted sweet in a way it shouldn't taste, and she realized why bleeding was something he wasn't supposed to do. It was intoxicating, exalting, and people would flock to tear him apart for just a drop. To taste the divine, to taste the sin. To taste both Heaven and Hell from a beautiful, condemned chalice.

**[[Animal]](https://youtu.be/Nman6sPkh8c) **

Blood was smeared on his face from their mouths, she knew it was painted on her, as well, and she loved it; the sick and twisted way blood was violent and claiming on skin, staining teeth. The way it colored their sexual brutality in shades of red against pale flesh. It was them, only them, that could make the other feel that way, and she adored the taste, the aesthetic. With a final lick across his palm, she bent down, turning his head to the side by the hand against his chin, the fingers in his mouth. He moved with her and shuddered when she licked along his jaw, feeling the dichotomy of flesh, stubbled and scarred. She kissed and sucked her way down his neck, the part of him that was changed, nosing the collar of his shirt down so she could bite at the junction of his shoulder. His hips bucked beneath her, his neck arching as he groaned around her hand. Her fingers slipped out of his parted lips, and the hand on the back of her head tangled into her hair, yanking her head back up.

Before she could blink, his huge, devilish hand was wrapped around her throat, barely squeezing, just holding her head and face where he wanted. She inhaled, more of a wheeze, and he seemed pleased with the sound, a slight upturn to the corners of his mouth. The deep rumbling in his chest resumed, and she would have said it sounded like he was purring, if she could imagine what a saber-tooth would sound like, pleased with the squirming kill in its jaws. She moaned in the hold, raspy and strangled, and that only seemed to gratify him more.

"You're mine, Chloe Decker. _Mine,_ " he growled, voice deeper and more reverberating than earlier. Without having heard it before, she knew what it was. The King's voice, the Commander; she knew why demons listened. She knew why the other creatures tried to kill him. She could feel the threat in the timbre of that voice. "Tell me. Say it."

He adjusted his grip on her throat, just enough so he could slide his thumb, nail longer and sharp, across her mouth, over her parted lips, gliding over slick teeth. "I'm yours," she gasped, the pressure of his thumb making the words sound muffled and less enunciated. " _Fuck_ , I'm yours."

He moaned, like her admission went straight to his cock, his head tilting back, exposing the thick lines and tendons in his neck. He didn't have to tell her she was right. They both knew it. "And I'm yours," he rumbled, red eyes slanted from half-closed lids. Even in the dark, even with nothing but the red glow and adjusted night-vision to see him, he was beautiful beyond comprehension. It was a privilege to get to experience him, in any state, and she knew it wasn't the first time she realized that. "Say it."

"You're mine. All mine," she answered, conviction laced with worship in her tone. His eyes fluttered closed with a sigh, like hearing that was the only thing he ever needed to hear. Like hearing that gave him all the pleasure he could ever want. He leaned back in, the hand on her throat wrapping around the back of her neck, his mouth replacing the path of his fingers. Wet lips ghosted over her skin, and then chill running down her spine was warmed by his hot breath against her pulse.

"Tell me to take you," he demanded, nose running along the side of her neck, tracing a vein.

She shuddered, grinding down involuntarily, stilling at the feel of something huge and hard beneath her. She'd felt him more than once, felt his length beneath her just as frequently, but what she was feeling then was nothing she could have prepared for. There was something wrong in the size, something profoundly sobering and enticing at the sheer mass. Call it morbid curiosity, but she was ready to hurt for it.

" _Shit,"_ she cursed, remembering herself, remembering there was a command. "Yes, take me. Have me." Chloe had the chance to inhale when he moved, so suddenly she felt a cool breeze in the stagnant air. He was pulling her harder against him, her legs unfolding so her ankles could cross behind his hips. His arms moved so his hands to find her hips, fingers sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, gripping. He pulled the material up hurriedly, barely giving her the chance to raise her arms. His claws caught her skin, and she hissed at the sharp sting of pain.

He tossed her shirt aside and went for her belt, but stopped as soon as he saw her skin. Red lined welled up with blood on her sides, from hips to ribs, and she watched as his hands clenched by her thighs, afraid to keep going, afraid to touch.

"No, no, it's okay," she soothed, hands coming up to cup his face. He was so large beneath her, but a single act, a single accident, could make him look so small. So guilty. Her fingertips scratched at his scalp, palms cool against his warm cheeks, thumbs resting below the jut of his lower lip. "Make me feel it, Lucifer. Make me feel nothing but you." She felt his jaw twitch, his eyes close for a second before opening, staring directly into hers with so much passion it should have been frightening, consuming. She was ready to burn in them.

He lunged for her mouth, capturing her lips between his pointed teeth as his hands went back to her belt, undoing it deftly even with his larger fingers. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra, panting as she tossed it aside and wrapped an arm around her back, using the other to shift onto his knees. She felt herself lifted and then lowered down, jagged rock digging into her back, but she didn't care, not when she had a huge, solid form between her thighs, hovering over her. She wondered if they could ever have soft when their need for the other seemed to take throw all caution to the wind. She didn't need soft. That was what mortals did. She'd take brutal god over gentle any day, or night, or life.

Her hands were still against his head, shifted closer to his temples, but he grabbed them and pinned them out to the side, her elbows bent at a 90˚ angle. His mouth lowered to her neck, her chest, where his lips wrapped around one nipple, then the other, releasing the sensitive flesh with a pop before dragging teeth down her stomach. She writhed and moaned beneath him, but he didn't let her move much; he kept her just where he wanted, where he could devour and take all he wanted. His teeth stopped at the hill of one hip bone, replacing sharp edges with plush lips as he trailed them across to the other side. Goosebumps erupted over her skin, legs twitching from where they were wrapped around him, only farther up his back.

The purring, the threatening growling sounded again, and he let go of her arms, confident she'd keep them were he left them, and he pushed her legs apart, peeling them off of his back. He leaned up as he worked open the button and zipper of her jeans, the tines clinking as he pulled down. He dug his fingers into the waist of the denim, scratching her skin more, and her eyes rolled back as he lowered her pants and underwear down, lifting her legs to rest the material in a heap at her ankles. He stared at her as he unzipped each boot, slipped them off her feet, followed by her socks, and then pulled the last of the offending material away. He kept her ankles over his shoulders, eyes moving to the one with claw marks, dried blood, and dark gashes.

The injury wasn't bad, but every movement felt sore, made it hurt, and all of that pain seeped away the second his lips touched the sensitive inside of her ankle. His tongue darted out, starting to lick at the dried trails of blood from each wound. She gasped, and he moaned, tasting her, absorbing her pain and swallowing it down. He had the ability to take all the darkness, all the sin, all the ache she had and swallow it. Only he could do that; only he was good at taking on the agony of others like a sacrificial confessional, like the priest who bolted himself in on the other side.

With a final, sucking kiss to her ankle, he lowered himself down, so her knees were bent over his rounded shoulders. She felt his breath puff against the glistening, wet skin of her sex, could feel how swollen and blood-flushed she was already, and he groaned when he got close, when he could nose along her pubic bone, lips brush against her wetness. He hadn't used his mouth on her before, and she was sure waiting for a moment like that, a perfect moment in an imperfect situation, was worth it. His tongue slid out and through her folds, gliding along the slick arousal, licking it up like honey from a hive. She gasped, and his hands gripped the tops of her thighs, close to the bend of her hips, and he held her down as he had his fill.

He worked his tongue between flicking at her clit and dipping inside of her, switching when he could feel it was started to make her legs shake, her inner walls flutter. It was the most exquisite torture, the best thing to ever happen in Hell, she was sure of it. He worked her with his mouth, soft lips and pointed teeth, and she savored every brush of smooth muscle, every pinch of sharp bone. It was bringing her closer to the edge, and she used the leverage of her knees to roll her hips up into his face, into his mouth, and he groaned, shaking his head, trying to eat her alive.

"It's so good," she gasped, moaning and rolling her hips, chasing the high she was so close to reaching. He answered in a growl, seemingly fueled by her response, her reaction, and it only made his mouth work harder, faster, sharp teeth just a little too rough against delicate skin. She can feel the precipice of her release, her body rising with the sensation, and she couldn't keep her arms down any longer. She reached them up, thin fingers digging into the thick strands of dark, sweaty hair. Her nails scraped over his scalp as she fisted her hands and tugged, thighs squeezing his head as she came.

She could feel her jaw slack, stuck open and wide, lungs burning to try and gasp for breath as his tongue continued its assault on her clit, lips suctioning around her sex, drinking her in. She was hardly aware of when he stopped, only the loud sounds of his panting and grunting as he ran his hands along her thighs, squeezing, sounding pleased at her fucked-out state. Lifting her head and neck off of the rough ground, she could see his lips, his chin, glistening below the burning glow of his eyes. She wanted to lick herself off of him, feel the rough of his stubble beneath her tongue, the taste of his flesh and sweat under her own essence. He licked his lips as his fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, and she was impatient for a taste.

She sat up, reaching for his shirt, and he tried to shove her back down, to be something pretty to look down at while he stripped, but she held fast, fisting her hands into the front of his shirt and glaring at him. There was a moment where something close to anger flared in his eyes, but that quickly died; sudden understanding. They held eye contact while he finished unbutton his shirt, while he reached behind himself to pull the cuffed sleeves off, round shoulders stretching, exposing the broad expanse of his chest. Her eyes flicked down for a second, admiring the duality of both tan and crimson flesh. One of his hands worked on his belt while the other reached behind, tugging off his shoes and socks before assisting the other in pulling down his slacks. The fabric stretched around the middle of his thighs, and she was done waiting.

Chloe looked down, for the first time, and saw a startling altered appendage where Lucifer's cock should have been. It was his, the overall look of it, but it seemed to be part of him that changed, as well. She looked up, and she could see the slight upward curve of his lips, the way his eyes gleamed with a proud, knowing attitude. It was everything that should have frightened her; everything that shouldn't make her want to scream as she took it. Dark, red, thicker than any dick had the right to be. The length was only slightly longer than his usual well-endowed nature, but the girth was something truly magnificent. Terrifying.

It was inhuman, sinful, and when she reached down and wrapped a hand around it, she couldn't help but gasp along with him at the sensation. Her fingers couldn't touch her thumb, didn't even come close, and it was heavy and hot in her hand. Lucifer groaned, head tilting back, still on his knees, as she experimented with touch, gliding her smooth skin along the daunting thickness of it, feeling his pounding blood in the veins along the length. She squeezed at the head, her thumb sliding along the very tip, collecting a pearly drop of precum that she slicked in a circle around the slit. She bit her lip, looking him in the eye, pleading, as she moved herself to kneel in front of him, her free hand coming to rest at his hip. She released his dick before lowering down to hands and knees, mouthing at his iliac crest before kissing down his injured thigh.

The skin there was angry, his typical tan, and the hollow tunnel where the arrow had pierced through the upper layers of his flesh was swollen and still leaking blood. She kissed at it, feeling the way he flinched from the contact, but he didn't stop her, not even when her tongue licked wide and flat over the entry wound. She felt a huge hand rest on top of her head, guiding her as she continued to kiss and lick around the area until all she knew was the flavor of his blood on her tongue and the feel of wounded skin. She pecked feather-light kisses as she moved inward until the heavy weight of his cock pressed against the side of her face.

They knew it wouldn't fit in her mouth, not past her teeth, and he didn't seem too concerned with testing that theory. She wanted to taste him, but it was clear he was after a singular goal: to sink his cock inside her tight, wet heat. Fill her up. Stretch her beyond her limit. Force her to take it. She settled on kitten licks to the head, clawed fingers in her hair gripping tightly. She ran her tongue along the underside, from root to tip, and the trip seemed to take a lifetime. A lifetime on a veiny path, pulse thumping against her tongue, blood-filled muscle bobbing in the air.

She felt his hands grip her upper arms, right below her shoulders, and he hauled her up before turning her over on hands and knees, facing away from him. It was thrilling, not being able to see what would come next, what he looked like stalking behind her on his knees, how his eyes were roaming her body, looking at every inch of his mortal bent over for him. Suddenly, that predatory purring sounded next to her ear, a dark, deep rumble that sounded nowhere near human, most likely nowhere near angel, but she couldn't deny the way it made the muscles in her lower stomach clench. The way her skin burst out into chills at the threat of it, the _intent_. He leaned over her, all hard lines and thick muscle, and she felt the huge, blunt heat of his cock bob between her legs as his hips pressed against her ass.

His nose moved along the hair at the base of her neck, inhaling her scent, breathing her in, and the hot puffs tickled against sensitive skin. It was a torturous anticipation, waiting for the inevitable push of that cock inside of her, and it seemed Lucifer had gone non-verbal on her, doing nothing more than growling and grunting, sounds of pleasure that any predator would make when feasting. Suddenly, a thick arm was wrapping around her chest, hauling her up so her back was to his chest, his head well above hers. His other hand gripped the back of her hip, holding her pelvis steady, right where he needed it to be to take what he wanted.

The arm across her front slid up, hand cupping the front of her throat, pushing her chin up so she was forced to look back, neck arching until his face was upside-down in her vision. It was harder to breath bent in that way, but she would gladly struggle for air to look in his eyes when he took her. He groaned as he rolled his hips, cock sliding between her thighs, gathering the ample arousal that had been dripping there. It made it more horrifying, to feel the sheer size of his cock against her sex, spreading the lips, wider than the triangle of space between her pubic bone and thighs. It was massive, and the fear had started to set it, that blood-warming fear and anticipation mixing into a heady combination of desperate want inside of her.

When he seemed bored with that, his hand left her hip so he could line himself up with her entrance, the thick, blunt head pressing an ache against her trembling hole. The hand returned to her hip, surely to keep her from pulling away from him, and she could feel her breath hitching, knew Lucifer could tell, knew it was causing the satisfied snarl on his lips. His head bent over hers, and she felt the swipe of his hot, wet tongue from right below her nose to over her lips, before curling over the curve of her chin. Then he started pushing in. With his face over hers, with his hand keeping her shaking hips from moving, with his hand on her throat forcing her to look up, and she couldn't close her eyes, even if she wanted to.

Her mouth fell open in a silence scream, a shaky gasp pulled from her lungs by his long, rough groan as he pushed in, agonizingly slow, feeling every inch of her walls stretch around his extraordinary girth. It hurt, pretending it didn't would be insulting, but she wanted it, needed the burn of the stretch, needed to feel impaled on something, needed to feel like she was breaking apart on him. She could have been, for all she knew. She could have been splitting apart at her most delicate seam, and she would have let her body rip in two with a smile on her face and a moan in her lungs.

He seemed content on letting that happen.

Once he was fully sheathed inside of her, no doubt showing under the organs and skin of her lean, lower belly, a thick, possessive embossment under her skin, he released a ragged sigh, his head tilting back. She watched, enraptured, as his throat moved with a swallow before tilting back down to face her. He kept her bent like that, arched and immobile, and slowly started to thrust in and out. Her eyes rolled, she could feel the pull of muscles below her eyes as she did so, and he hummed over her. His lips found hers again, and he licked into her mouth before shoving her forward. She just barely caught herself on her forearms, skin and bone digging into the rough rock beneath. She felt huge hands grip her waist, pressing down, using his weight, and he started fucking her with earnest.

He wasn't happy with the pace until the violent sounds of skin slapping skin could be heard echoing in the small cavern. She gasped when a hand found its way into the hair on the back of her head, grabbing and pulling her back up to her hands, grunting with each aggressive thrust into her tight heat. Chloe arched her back, letting him fuck into her deeper, and he growled in appreciation, hands tightening above her hip and in her hair, claws digging into the soft skin of her stomach, but they didn't draw more blood.

Chloe couldn't hold back her own obscene noises, it was impossible to do so. There was nothing delicate nor gentle about how she sounded. She grunted and groaned just like someone getting absolutely railed by a dick too fucking big would sound like: wrecked and fucking _needing_ it. Her throat was raw with the litany of curses and praises, the purely primal moans that the long stroke of his thick cock tore out of her. Her palms and knees were bruised and bloody, sure was sure of it, but it was beyond being worth it. The collateral damage of getting fucked by half-Devil, half-Supreme Being was just as easily swallowed as the spit in her mouth.

She loved it, loved every excruciating drag of that monstrous cock inside her, and she truly felt like she was made for it, like she was the only one able to take it. She could hope it were true, and he gave no indication that it wasn't. He took her with the total control and abandon as someone sitting down for a meal they prepared: it was for them, only them, and they could eat their fill however they desired. He was indulging, fucking _feasting_ on his meal, and when the hand on her hip lowered until her slick clit could be rubbed by thick, rough fingers, she knew she was going to cum harder than she ever thought possible.

The little tremors, the fleeting flutters of her walls that indicated her orgasm was imminent were taking her breath away, she could hardly breath, hardly focus on anything other than the brutal pounding of hips against her ass, the way his cock carved its way inside her shuddering body. He could tell, he was grunting into it, putting more strength into his thrusts, the hand in her hair moving to her neck to help pull her back onto him.

" _Fuck_ ," she moaned lewdly, head dropping low, her elbows shaking, close to giving out. "Fuck, yes, Lucifer, _yes!"_ she praised, and she was rewarded with a particularly hard thrust, a hard squeeze to the back of her neck, fingers flicking across her clit maddeningly fast. "Oh, _fuck, YES!"_

"That's it," he growled from behind her, and she knew her ass would be bruised by the end of it. "Give me what I want, give me what I want." It was the first time he'd spoken in a while, and he sounded more affected than she figured he would be.

She knew what he wanted. He wanted her release, he wanted her to squeeze his outrageously huge cock inside her walls, he wanted to feel what he did to her. Her body was alight with all the sensations, both tactile and auditory, and it was quickly becoming too much for a mortal body to handle. She wanted that. She wanted him to push her beyond her limits. She wanted to know what it was like to be immortal, a demi-god. She wanted to feel the raw power that Lucifer exuded just from being in the same room. She wanted to feel both Heaven and Hell; bliss and sin.

She moaned again, loudly, the sound interrupting with every thrust, and he let go of her neck to give her ass one good, hard slap before gripping her nape once again. "Fuck, _yes!"_ she cried, back arching and she started to meet his thrusts, pushing back as her walls began to tighten. "Fucking show Him who He made me for. _Show Him!"_ she all but growled as her orgasm overcame her. She had no idea where the words came from, but they seemed to be the right ones to say because Lucifer roared behind her, the hand on her clit moving to the center of her back and _pushing_ her down, pinner her in place, as his cock plundered its treasure.

Her eyes were rolling in her skull, her face mashed against the harsh stone ground, but all she could feel was her entire body contracting and shuddering around his monster cock, totally owned, completely belonging to him. She barely had the wherewithal to notice when his hips faltered behind her. She wanted to see him, and, like he could read her mind (and who was to say he couldn't at that point) he leaned over her, hand still gripping the back of her neck aggressively, possessively. He was growling almost constantly, a feral sort of sound, and she could see how his eyes were different. They were no longer just glowing embers of heat where brown used to be, they were actual fires, raging from his eye sockets, flickering out and over his cheeks, and she could feel the heat, the singe with his face being so close to hers. His mouth was open and he was panting into the air, smoke puffing out with every exhale, and it was _glorious_.

His growls turned to groans, his eyes still burning like his skull held an inferno, his eyes windows to the force within, and he pressed down on her harder as he came. She could feel his cock grow harder as it pulsed inside of her, as it coated her walls with his hot seed, throbbing and making the ring of skin of her hole sting with the added girth of each pulse. He was breathing raggedly as he started to come down from his release, eyes returning to the controlled, hot-coal appearance, but he still held her down, in place, forcing her to take all that he had in him. Her hands were shaking where she had them pressed on the ground at either side of her head, and she had never felt so possessed and cherished before in her life.

Lucifer's release seemed to take the edge off, and he was moved with less feral intensity, more fierce determination. He stayed buried in her, reveling in the feel of slick, swollen heat constricting his cock. Her walls clamped down as his cock twitched a final time, and they moaned together at the sensation. She felt the stubble of his chin scrape along her shoulder, across her back, hot puffs of air coming from his damp lips. She whimpered when he pulled out, his cock hardly flagging its erect state, and she hissed when body-hot cum slid out of her, running down her thighs, collecting in the bends of her knees. He seemed to appreciate the mess he'd made of her, and she could feel his grin against the skin of her neck.

Suddenly, the heat of his body was gone from behind her, and when she turned to look over her shoulder, she caught him moving to settle onto his back on the ground. He grabbed her then, big hands on her hips, lifting her up and onto his lap. His cock pressed against the tender folds of her sex, slick with his spent seed, and he pulled her down towards him, chest to chest, before kissing her, strangely delicate. She sighed into the treatment, forearms resting on his muscled chest, nails scraping along the sides of his head, tickling the short hairs, scratching skin.

He moaned into her mouth, softly, hips rocking up against her pelvis, and she gasped. Everything felt electrified, still so sensitive, a post-coital torture she would gladly take. He pulled away, just far enough to hold her gaze, foreheads pressed together in something more intimate than she could have imagined they would ever share. Maybe it showed how fucked-up they had been with each other, that they found blood and aggression, holding each other's fears and insecurities in their rough palms, dangling them out like a humiliating life-line. _It'll be so good, but you'll hate yourself for it_.

"I always wanted it this way," he admitted, breath hot against her lips. Her eyes fluttered and she nodded, throat working to swallow down the prickling tears threatening to flow. "I wanted so much more for you than what we did. It wasn't supposed to be like that," he went on, and she could feel the anxiety in the rush of his words, could feel the sincerity. She didn't need him to feel bad about it; it was inevitable for them in that situation, regardless of what they should have been.

"Hey," she interjected, rubbing her thumb over the arch of his cheekbone, staring down into fire that, she felt, burned for her. "It's not like either one of us tried to stop it."

"It was better than nothing, than losing you completely," he said, for the both of them, and she licked her lips before kissing him again. Kindly, softly, tongues dancing instead of fighting. He was right; the fighting, the hatred, and anger and aggression, it was all better than nothing at all. She'd take the bruises, the soreness, the bitter words, over never seeing him, over never getting to know the way he tasted of whiskey and something sweet, like cigar smoke. Something she'd never tell him.

It was different that time, everything felt _more_. There wasn't the same amount of needless violence, only the kind that was derived from animal need and desperate want. The scars she'd bear from their time in Hell would birth emotional responses that didn't make her flush from heated longing. And when he slid inside her again, face to face, eye to eye, any aggression was gone, any need to claim. It was just them, in a hollow wasteland, and they'd feel all they could be, if even for the last time.

**0o0o0o0**

**[[Wonderwall]](https://youtu.be/aaRONKwMfUQ) **

He held her close as he slid in and out of her tight warmth, not quite fucking, but he wasn't sure what else to call it. He was never one to be feather-soft and sugary-sweet when inside another, and Chloe had never given him the impression that she wanted that. It was something hungry and desperate, lacking of all their previous aggression and violence, but he still felt it just as deeply.

She was slick between her legs, an intoxicating mix of her own arousal and his copious release, and it made the second round with her impressively easy. He could see the scraped rashes on her knees and forearms, the scratches on her sides, and he wanted to keep from hurting her anymore. If he could help it, he'd only hurt her in the ways she begged for from that day forward. He quickly stopped that train of thought; it wasn't helpful in their circumstance, to think about anything beyond the present. He couldn't promise more than the present to her. Not in the cesspool of his Father's rejections and disobedient souls.

Her moans and gasps were a glorious hymn in his ears, the taste of her mouth like communion. He'd offer his flesh and blood to her in the same, give her something to live from, let him die as the last taste on her tongue, the last morsel to fill her belly. It was all too overwhelming to think on, so he busied his mind with keeping her noises constant, with making sure he wasn't gripping her hips too hard.

She was out of place in that land; a mortal so beautiful didn't deserve to see all that she had seen, feel all she had felt at his hands, but he couldn't help but notice how stunning her honeyed skin looked against black stone, how her hair looked like flowing sunlight in a land without sun, how her eyes were bluer than anything should ever be in a place made of ash and rock.

He rolled his hips up into her, feeling the way her body squeezed around his, how when he pushed as deep as he could go, and then some, her face would screw up in what looked like pain before melting into pure pleasure, as if being stuffed beyond fullness was some sort of escape. He was close again, but he had only made her cum one time since putting her on top, he wanted another, selfishly. He wanted to feel her body crush his, wanted to feel her suck him in deeper, he wanted to feel that slight resistance when trying to pull out.

He could feel she was close, could feel her heart rate increasing, her breaths quickening and shorter, her mouth slack and open, the way it should be with him inside of her. Her eyes were hooded, but a sliver and blue and black could be seen, staring down at him as if he were the world. It made his chest tight, his blood run hotter, and the attention made his eyes sting with tears that would evaporate before they could fully form. He didn't deserve to be looked at with such reverence, but he was greedy for it, he would take the adoration and feel horrible about the fallacy of it later.

Lucifer's hands squeezed the plump globes of her ass, pulling her flesh apart, exposing wet, heated skin to the stagnant air of their cavern. She nodded her head, a nonverbal litany of pleading, and he lowered his fingers until he could feel himself moving within her around the stretched skin at her opening. He could feel the push and pull of flesh, of her muscles expanding with his size, how thin the skin had been stretched. He was amazing by the human body, its willingness to take all that it could, its resilience. She whined into his mouth, her lips on his, not kissing but just there, sharing air.

He rubbed the thinned flesh with his middle fingers, feeling the very edge of her hole, where his cock was sliding in and out of wet skin, slick and coated. He gathered all the arousal, all the release, on those fingers before lining them up to slide them in alongside his cock. Her eyes opened wide, and she leaned up enough to get a good look at his face. He bit his lower lip before pushing them in with his next thrust, stretching her open on his cock and two fingers. She groaned lewdly, whether at the image of it in her head or at any change of sensation, he couldn't be sure. He knew the feel of it, the image he could conjure in his mind of what her pussy looked like stretched around his cock and fingers, was doing a lot to getting him closer to another orgasm. He needed hers first.

She cursed, starting to grind back onto his cock and digits, and he sped up his pace, added more strength behind his thrusts, really making her feel him and all she did to him. She leaned up, fists pounding at his chest as she cried out, body shaking and convulsing over his, inner muscles clenching tightly on his cock, his fingers; her body doing its best to milk him. He moaned with her, enthralled by the show, the feel, knowing he'd never see anything as beautiful as Chloe Decker cumming on top of him. It was enough to get him there, the precipice, the point of no return, and when she finally seemed to calm, her body no longer twitching on its own accord, he yanked her back down.

A hand on her neck, the other wrapped around her waist, he fucked up into her fluttering heat, fresh arousal slicking the way, and he moaned softly when he came, pumping into her endlessly, feeling his hot seed coating her walls, his own cock, feeling it fill her up and leak out of her, knowing it would gush out of her like it did the first time. Not thinking too long on why he felt a slight tinge of disappointment at that thought.

" _Fuck,_ " he breathed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before claiming her mouth again, tongue diving in and claiming the well. It wasn't the most formal way of saying what had happened, but it was the most accurate. Words just couldn't do it justice. _Fuck_ was the only thing he could thing to explain his thoughts. Besides _perfect_ , but he just couldn't bring himself to expose his heart that much. Not yet. Not there.

She giggled in agreement, biting her lip before planting a chaste kiss on his lips. He could stay like that, even in Hell, as long as she never had to leave, as long as they never had to move. If they could just stay like that, for eternity, damnation would be exquisite. But it couldn't be like that; a place as old and alive as Hell would never allow such paradise in its environs.

It had to end. And he knew that, but he couldn't stop himself from indulging in the make-believe. He couldn't stop himself from looking up into her eyes, seeing the color of the ocean when looking at Earth from afar. He had his selfish moments, and that was one of them, wanting to pretend that they weren't where they were, that it could possibly end on the right note that time. He thought about how they treated each other in the past months, all the hate and harsh words, harsh hands, the toying with emotions and taking what they wanted. He wondered if all of that made him appreciate the moment they had shared that much more powerful, like a phoenix from the burning ashes. Something beautiful and resilient born from all that carnage.

He tried to smile as he sat up, adjusting her in his lap so her legs could wrap around him. Without all the adrenaline from their coitus, all the bruises and open wounds made themselves alarmingly apparent. He grunted, the pain in his thigh being the worst, and knew it was going to be a problem. It made walking difficult, running damn near impossible. Fear at being weak crept it; fear of not being able to protect them, protect _her_ , overrun him, and just like that, the little bubble of happiness was popped. Back to reality. Back to the unyielding fight he never seemed to be able to keep himself out of.

"As much as I'd like to stay here and keep doing all of _this_ ," he started, squeezing her a little, making her smile wide. "I would very much like to get back to a bed, so we can keep doing it without looking like we've been drug over sandpaper behind a horse," he smirked, even though it was the truth. Hellish brimstone and rock were not kind on the skin. At all. "Oh, wait, I actually was drug behind a horse." He brought out the charm, using it to cover the fact that he was uncertain, unconfident, unknowing of what would happen to them.

There was a slight change in her expression, a minute slip where he could see she saw right through him, but then her face changed to agreement, and she smiled, kissed his lips, and maneuvered herself up on shaky legs. He could revel in the fact she walked like a newborn fawn, all wobbly limbs and satisfied eyes. She didn't say anything as she slowly redressed, sliding her jeans over the mess of her inner thighs, and he got a sick pleasure from knowing she would wear his cum between her legs.

Lucifer put himself into his own tattered, bloody clothes, even though they felt disgusting. One would think he'd be naturally comfortable in his nakedness, but those people obviously never had to fight with their cocks flinging about. Once they were dressed and as ready as they would ever be, they left their small sanctuary, feeling sated, but suspicious of the quietness. It felt wrong, but he didn't say anything, knowing Chloe wouldn't understand. He had lived in Hell for so long, let it sneak its way into him and be a chip on his shoulder, that he could feel the energy of it, could feel when it was wrong. It was one of the ways he navigated the barren landscape, feeling the energy, feeling the tortured souls and their heartache. He could feel the excitement of the demons, could feel the ferocity of Hell's beasts.

He felt almost nothing but a dull thrum in the energy, like Hell had cleared and was empty. Like the visible space around them had been closed, shut-off from the rest of the environment. None of it was a good sign, but he'd have to deal with it when the time came. He couldn't let Chloe worry over something she couldn't feel, couldn't understand.

A cool sweat lingered at his hairline, his survival instincts on high alert, screaming at him to get out, but there was nowhere to go. So he walked a little closer to Chloe, kept his vigilance, knew he wouldn't see the attack before it happened, but he could be ready for when it came.

Feelings were tricky for him, and he wished he couldn't feel anything. Every time he glanced at Chloe out of the side of his eye, he felt his stomach twist and turn. The thought of anything happening to her was unimaginable. The overwhelming sensation to _destroy_ at the thought of losing her was frightening. He would. He would obliterate anything in his path for her, and that was scary. She could keep him from being a monster, but she could also bring out the evil in him.

He wasn't sure which was better. Which was most frightening.

His leg was throbbing, every step sent a jolt of stabbing pain from hip to knee; he could feel blood trickling down again. It gave him a limp, and he hoped that his leg would heal without a permanent hiccup in his step. Although, it would give him a distinguished edge, but it was hard to think about that when the fear of fighting in his condition muddied his mind.

He hadn't told Chloe much about their movement, about why they had to just keep going and stay low, if possible. He wasn't sure how to word it, without it sounding so defeatist. Without it sounding like it was the end of the line, for one of them. He hadn't told her about needing to find his brother, no matter how much he utterly despised the idea of asking for another favor. He wondered if Michael was watching, figured he most likely was, being just like his Father's right hand, observing from afar, not stepping in for an assist. _Fucking pious bastard._

***************

They walked for what felt like hours, and Lucifer already wondered if it were one of those times where Hell's time moved much slower, or if it were a time it moved faster than that on the Earthly plane. He didn't tell Chloe that bit of information for a reason; he wasn't sure how he could explain that years could easily go by, or that she could return with no more than a minute difference from when they left. It was maddening, purposefully so, and it always made his return to Hell and departure a complicated affair.

They continued to walk in comfortable silence, neither knowing what to say to the other. They shared glances from time to time, kind a gentle looks, but he could see the trepidation in her eyes, the nerves she tried to swallow down. He was feeling them, too. There had been surprisingly little activity, and he could only hope the beasts and primeval beings had decided to leave him be, noticed that he was putting up a fight they didn't want to bother with.

He _hoped_ they would leave them alone. Even through forcing himself to walk as smoothly as possible, there was an unmistakable lilt in his step. An obvious limp. It would be their perfect opportunity to take him. He looked like a wounded animal, a wolf who had been caught in a bear trap, openly vulnerable. The other wolves were bound to notice, the other wolves were bound to take him out, eat their fill of him and the pretty fox he wandered with. Not harmless, but certainly holding no threat to a pack of starved wolves.

**[[Paleowolf]](https://youtu.be/CTIoeeWDsFc) **

The only thing that stopped the analogy of a wolf and fox being torn apart in his head was the faint sounding of drums. He wasn't sure if they were in his head, and one glance at Chloe, seeing her brows pulling together, eyes squinting in the way everyone's do when trying to discern a sound real or imagined.

They were very real.

Lucifer gulped, closing his eyes and halting his movement, taking a few deep breaths, trying to allow the rising concern to give way to adrenaline. Readying himself for another fight. He felt Chloe's hand on his arm, but he couldn't open his eyes, he couldn't look at her and not give away his fear. It was for her, always for her, the terror, but knowing he was, more than likely, incapable of protecting her, was something he just couldn't face. Not when the one who would suffer was looking right at him, with understanding eyes. With acceptance of their fate in those cool-blue pools.

"Lucifer?" he heard her ask, and that forced his eyes open, the sheer terror in her tone. When his vision focused, he could see her eyes wide, hand around his wrist, looking like a dear caught in the headlights. That was what they were at that point. No time to run or hide, the truck as coming to hit them, smear them red across the black asphalt like a morbid Trash Polka tattoo.

"Detective," he stated, finding her eyes, hoping the seriousness was there. "We've been found again."

"So we'll hide, like last time," she offered valiantly, and it almost pulled a smile on his lips, to see her willingness to survive.

He shook his head, the dread of it weighing heavy on his neck. "There's no time. It sees us, It's here already. I need you to stay out of the way."

"No, we have to try something!" she cried, trying to pull his arm. He wanted to tell her if there was another choice, he wouldn't just stand there and surrender. He _wished_ they could hide again. But it would be futile, and the journey would put more strain on his already injured frame.

"Chloe," he said, grasping her attention, pulling her in so he could hold her face in his hands. "Please. Try to stay away. No matter what." He fought the urge to kiss her, not wanting it to feel like a goodbye, and he watched her eyes fill with tears before they sunk back down, turning into determination. She nodded her head, and that's when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, when he felt the strange itch that someone was watching. When he turned, slowly looking over his shoulder before facing their foe, he saw the huge, red horse. The Rider, in barbaric armor and carrying a huge two-handed sword in one large, gauntlet-covered hand, held upright, the clear signal for battle, waited.

That was the thing with The Red Rider, battle was its purpose, combat was its drive. While Conquest had looked like a knight, ready to conquer all the lands, War looked like a battle-worn Viking, ready to lead people into tearing each other apart. The second Horsemen was no less formidable than the first. Lucifer mumbled a curse, jaw clenched tight as his brain wracked through the possible outcomes of such a face-off.

The only solace he had was that the goal wasn't to kill them, not unless it was in fear for its own existence, but the other end of that was just as frightening. He had no idea who was summoning them to find him. Had no idea the intent of that creature. He couldn't risk it.

**[[Make it Swift]](https://youtu.be/ojSJzvfsksQ) **

He took a step towards the mountain of a figure on its even larger horse, and the Rider hopped down from its mount, assessing orange eyes peering out from a horned helmet. Lucifer felt Chloe's hand tighten, trying to pull him back, but he just shook his head, looked at her with a hard expression. She let go, and he took another step, on his bad leg, and he winced. The Red Rider sneered at the sight; thinking it would be an easy bounty to collect.

Lucifer was hurt, but he had no intention of letting himself or, more importantly, Chloe be taken. He was the personification of wrath, after all. It was time to really show it. Show why he could hold any dominion over that wild realm.

He was stronger in hell; everything larger and more potent, and while he didn't have a weapon to wield in whatever combat was about to occur, he had an element he could claim. He clenched his fist, taking another step, and thus started the duel, of sorts. The Red Rider took another heaving step, the ground literally shaking beneath his feet. The sword, as big as Lucifer was tall, and nearly as thick, was held out to the side by one hulking arm. It took another step before charging. Lucifer's advantage in that fight would be his agility in comparison to War's bulk. As long as he could keep himself free of its grasp, he could chance a victory.

It was easier said than done, especially when Chloe was a permanent concern in his mind, a permanent figure in his peripheral. It distracted him, even when he knew it shouldn't, and he just barely missed the first swing of the monstrous blade. He lunged to the side, turning around as it followed-through with the swing. He was able to grasp the leather armor on its back and pull, hoping to knock it off balance, get it on the ground, where he could wreak havoc with blowing fists and raging fire.

War hardly moved, and when he spun around, he took Lucifer with him, sweeping his legs out from under him in the process. Lucifer's back hit the ground, and he rolled to one side, missing a slash of the blade, and he quickly rolled back to the center when the blade stabbed into the ground a quarter of the way to the hilt. The Rider was quick, but Lucifer had strength, and when the blade was raised high above his head, falling down towards him, he reached up with his hands and grasped it. He shouted as the edges cut into his hands, as the blade slid a little farther down through the gashes it made, but he held it within inches from his chest. Staring directly into those glowing orange eyes, his own a fierce red, he summoned the power Hell gave him, and he felt the metal in his hands begin to heat up, watched it turn yellow, then orange, then red, before the edges closest to his hands went white. The heat traveled up to the hilt, and even through thick gloves, Lucifer could see War's hands smoking, could see the shock on its face, the pain it felt as it roared.

It was a fight of endurance, whoever could let go first, and Lucifer put all he had into making his hands molten, turning the weapon against its handler. He could see it in the large eyes on the even larger head: the surprise as the metal grew hotter. It roared as smoke and steam continued to billow from the gloved hands, as leather started to melt to skin. Lucifer could feel the blade slicing deeper as he squeezed harder, could feel the grind of the metal as it hit bone. The Horseman was about to let go, Lucifer could see it in his shaking arms, but then there was a loud gong against the horned helmet. A rock smashed down on the Riders head, Chloe's face coming into view.

War pulled the blade from Lucifer's hand, a trail of blood flying through the air in the process before he threw his elbow against Lucifer's nose. Fresh blood poured out, streaming down each side of his face, over upper lip. He watched in horror as the gigantic figure loomed towards Chloe, who was backing away slowly, eyes flicking between the imminent threat and Lucifer. He shuffled up to his knees, leg screaming as he stood and tried to run towards the Rider. A huge hand, covered in burns, reached out and grabbed her throat and started squeezing.

Her face immediately went red, eyes wide and starting to pop. Lucifer yelled as he reached up and grabbed the horns on the Rider's helmet, pulling back and kicking the back of its knees. It fell, releasing Chloe as it reached back for the hands that were more of a threat than a mortal, and Lucifer struggled to keep from being flipped over its padded shoulder. He could hear Chloe coughing, the distinct sound of thick boot soles kicking at loose gravel as she backed away, and he felt a small amount of relief with that. He kept one hand wrapped around a horn, a handle to control the head, and used the other to reach around and dig his middle finger into its eye socket.

The Horseman yelled, a strange, distorted, ancient sort of sound, and Lucifer didn't stop until he felt a gushing sensation after a soft _pop_. He kept going, hoping to incapacitate the primordial being enough to gain the upper hand. The gashes on his palms throbbed and bled profusely as the muscles struggled to do as they were told, but he kept hold of the helmet, kept his finger dug deep through the eye of the Rider. The hand on the horn started to lose strength, almost completely useless after having sliced through the already compromised palm with a bullet hole through it.

Reaching up, War grabbed onto his wrist desperately, the one attached to the hand on the horn, and he pulled, prying it off finger by finger. The giant shakily lifted Lucifer's hand and hovered it over the pointed tip of the curved horn. Lucifer couldn't even scream when the Rider shoved his hand down, piercing it on the horn. He couldn't do anything but gasp in shock as the wound was re-opened and stretched around the yellowed keratin. It took all the strength out of his body, the pain seizing muscles up as if keeping frozen would reduce damage. The Horseman pulled it off with a sickening slick sound before grabbing a handful of Lucifer's hair, holding him steady as he turned to face him.

He held that hand up, rendered useless, and his used his other arm to try to fight off the grip as the Horseman started to move them, rising from his knees to his feet, guiding Lucifer out in front of him, where he couldn't take him by surprise. Dread filled Lucifer's stomach as he heard metal scrape the ground before hissing against the smelted leather and flesh of the Rider's hand, still hot from Lucifer's touch. He could hear Chloe screaming, even through the pounding of his heart raging in his ears. He watched the giant, one eye orange, the other a blob of red oozing from his eye socket, as it held up the heavy blade, and pushed it forward.

He expected it to feel hot, but all he felt was ice as the blade slipped between his ribs and into his pleural cavity. The struggle to breathe was immediate as blood filled the pierced lung, as his chest filled with liquid that shouldn't be there. The Horseman pulled the sword out slowly, and Lucifer gasped a breath before readying himself for a final blow. He wondered if it was going to cut off his head, or if it was going to draw-out the process, make the suffering as long as possible. A second blow by the sword never came, instead, he watched in surreal confusion as the pointed tip of a spear slid through War's chest, coming dangerously close to Lucifer's throat.

**[[Preliator]](https://youtu.be/ebk877L4DeU) **

He looked down at the gleaming gold, dripping with blood, before it was pulled back through, inflicting irreversible damage and the Horseman and his Red horse disappeared in a burst of rusty mist and faint drumming. He fell to his knees, the last moments still hazy in his slowly deteriorating capacity, and he barely registered the winged figure in front of him. Chloe's hands on his face, her blurry eyes slowly coming to focus, and he could see she was worried, frantic with it. He could see it in the way she lowered a hand towards his side, hovering it over the new tear in the fabric, the new stream of blood pooling inside of him and trickling out onto the ashen ground.

"You couldn't have done that _before_ it stabbed me?" Lucifer asked, coughing and looking up at his brother in all his golden righteousness.

"Time is funny down here," the angel started, peering down at the scene that Lucifer and Chloe made, curious bewilderment clear on his features. "I don't have the same experience you do with it, little brother." The smirk on Michael's face was not missed as he stepped closer to the pair, the ground nearly quaking under his gilded boots. The angel was a couple of inches (5 cm) taller than Lucifer, easily close to 30 lbs (13 kg) heavier, and he looked every bit of God's righteous warrior the 16th century paintings made him out to be. Although much more heavily armored than the artists depicted.

In his peripheral, he could see Chloe's concerned face slowly seep into confusion, and then understanding. He was often amazed by her ability to comprehend complex situations, especially when he seemed to lack the same skill in human affairs. "Don't beat yourself up about it," Lucifer tried to laugh, but his injured lung made the task more difficult than he had anticipated. "I'm a little rusty myself," he added, motioning at himself with his least injured hand. The other was on the ground, resting on knuckles, and Lucifer wasn't sure if he would ever be able to move his fingers again. "Father won't be too happy about that, though. The _Three_ Horsemen of the Apocalypse just doesn't have the same ring to it."

He could feel Chloe's glare even before he saw it. He knew it was with exasperation, because, by then, she was familiar with his ability to make things light and humorous when his situation was undoubtedly grim. He felt her delicate fingers wrap around that wrist, surveying the damage, and he watched the color fade from her cheeks. He sucked in a painful breath and she looked back up at him, swallowing thickly. He wished he could comfort her in some way, but he wasn't a liar. He could appear as if everything would be okay, but he couldn't find it in himself to say it out loud. He knew it wouldn't be, deep down in his slowing heart.

Michael chuckled and shrugged at Lucifer's words, and that was all the acknowledgement he would give him on his Father's potential reaction to the vanquishing of one of the Horsemen. "You sent Conquest running. I'm pressed, Lucifer," the angel admitted, stepping even closer to them. Lucifer could feel the thrumming of his brother's holy energy, and it sickened him, even to that day. "I could tell that Red bastard would give you a – was is it the humans say? – a run for your money." He raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes full of indifference at Lucifer's condition. "I do have to say, I'm a fan of his placement." He motioned towards Lucifer's side with a flourish of his hands, a clear reference to when he stabbed Lucifer himself, throwing him out of Heaven and into the very place they all stood.

" _Wow_ ," Chloe said softly, and Lucifer's gaze shot back to her in surprise. "Everyone in your family really is their own special breed of asshole, aren't they?" He gaze turned back to Michael, who was looking at Chloe shocked, incredulously, and he couldn't hold back the giggle that bubbled out through the struggle. Lucifer closed his eyes, as if savoring the moment, smiling proudly and humming his agreement to Chloe.

"Who are you to judge me, human?" Michael spat, standing taller, pulling his shoulders back, a proud stance. He pulled his attention from Chloe and glared down at Lucifer with antipathy. "They're all the same. So easy for you to corrupt with something plump and juicy." He smirked when Lucifer's glowing eyes shown with the understanding of that statement. What Michael was implying with those words. What he had _seen_.

Lucifer didn't notice Michael approach, crouch down, he was distracted by the expression on Chloe's face, the small scrunch of skin between her brows. He had no shame with sins of the flesh; he felt no sense of guilt nor embarrassment for what he and Chloe had done, but he thought Chloe might have felt different. Might not want her carnal desires hung out to dry like some blood-stained shirt. He felt Chloe press herself closer to him, didn't see the way Michael's gauntlet-covered hand reached up, closer to her.

"There are time where I can see the appeal, though," the angel muttered, eyes roaming down Chloe's form before he licked his lips, a single finger stroking down her cheek, feather-light. Chloe recoiled from the touch, her face hardening and eyes flaring with anger. Michael huffed in amusement, reaching out to touch her hair, and Lucifer lifted his arm, hand fitting around his brother's throat in a blink of an eye.

Michael turned his face to glare at Lucifer, unaffected by the grip, and Lucifer watched the slow, fluid motion of his brother's other arm before he felt the tip of the golden spear press against his throat. It was a silent threat, one decorate with one of Michael's brows arching up in a question. Reluctantly, Lucifer released his hard grasp on the angel's throat, and Michael lowered the spear as he gracefully rose to his feet. He held his hands out in front of him, one precariously gripping his spear, in the universal _okay, okay_ that even angels understood. It would have felt better, if the expression on Michael's face hadn't been pure amusement.

"After what I did for you, for the human," the angel started his speech, voice booming with holy authority. Lucifer's jaw clenched at the audacity of Michael's insinuation that he had ever done anything for him but kick him when he was down. He held his tongue; Michael was playing with them like a lion toying with a tumbleweed, but he had helped Chloe, regardless of how fucked-up the help was. "This is how you treat me? I did what you asked, got rid of her little demon problem, and _this_ was my solution," the speech continued, free hand held out to the side, like he was showing them the positives of their situation. "If I hadn't been keeping an eye on you, you would be dead, brother."

"Are you fucking serious?" Chloe asked, and Lucifer could hear the way her voice broke, the way it sounded when her emotions were raging with anger. He couldn't blame her; his family's capacity for cruelty in the eyes of what is pure and holy amazed him, even to that day. "I don't care who the fuck you are, if you had really wanted to help him, why send those things? The Horsemen?" Chloe rubbed small circles along Lucifer's back when a fit of coughs overtook him, he could taste the blood in his mouth from it, blood filling his airway, but he swallowed it down. Would for as long as he could.

"I didn't send them, and Lucifer lost his right for help a long time ago." Michael's eyes darkened, staring Lucifer down as he wheezed a few breaths. He seemed to analyze Lucifer's condition, possible just realizing the extent of the damage, but concern never crossed over his features. If anything, he looked like he was watching justice unfold as they spoke.

"Yet, you helped him, and sent us _here_ ," Chloe accused, and Lucifer could hear the disdain in her voice. She had every right to be angry, Lucifer wasn't sure if sending them to Hell had been the only option. In fact, he was sure it was purely for his brother's entertainment that he watched them traipse through Hell like mice through a field of feral cats.

"I helped _you_ , child. Not him," Michael corrected her, voice deceptively soft. "All humans can repent their sins, this waste of divinity cannot," he finished, hand motioning towards Lucifer with callous revulsion. Chloe opened her mouth, no doubt to defend him, but Lucifer placed a shaky hand on her arm, stopping her.

"If you didn't send them, who did?" he asked, clearing his throat, staving off another bout of choking.

"Not my realm, not my problem," the angel answered, wiping off a stray streak of blood from his spear on his forearm. "I wouldn't have let any harm come to the mortal, brother. Remember who has the right intentions here."

"That's comforting," Chloe mumbled sarcastically, loud enough for the angel to here. Michael did nothing but smirk at her. Lucifer wished he could hate his brother's words, but he couldn't. No matter how misguided Michael's intentions, it was his holy duty to protect the humans, and he would. His only respectable trait, in Lucifer's eyes.

On an inhale, Lucifer felt a bubble form in his throat, and it started a fit of choking and coughing, and he couldn't' stop the blood from seeping past his lips. He could hear Chloe's concern through the wracking of his lungs, he could feel the rattle of the pierced one, and he knew time was running short. An almost ironic notion for their location. He wiped his mouth on the back of a bloodied hand, and rolled his eyes as he realized he had only made the matter worse. There was no hiding the state of his condition; it was not good. He could feel Michael's eyes on him, and he would swear he could see the fatal understanding in them. He knew it, too.

"I need you to take her back to Earth," Lucifer stated, once he was able to suck in enough breath to form a sentence. Michael's expression didn't change, like the request wasn't a surprise. It really wasn't, if Lucifer put the energy into thinking about it. Chloe stiffened next to him, understanding the specific nature of his request, noticing that it didn't include him.

"Lucifer?" Chloe's voice cut through the barrage of arguments in his head, soft and distressed. He turned to look at her, putting on a brave face, trying to not let the tears welling in her eyes affect him. He wanted to explain how it was the only way, but his opportunity was ripped away by Michael reaching out and grabbing Chloe, forcing her away from him, wrapping her up in a single muscular arm, using the other to hold the staff of the spear over her chest. Whether it was to act like a shield or a cage, Lucifer couldn't be sure. Chloe glared at Lucifer, eyes wide with fear, and she struggled in his brother's arms. Michael lifted her feet of the ground, whispered something in her ear, lips closer to her skin than Lucifer found necessary, and Michael's eyes met his with a sinister gleam in them.

Lucifer was on his feet before his body could register the pain of it, his one working hand wrapped around Michael's throat, the other pressing his wrist to the back of the angel's head. " If I find out anything happened to her, that she didn't make it back safely, I'll fucking end you," Lucifer grit out through clenched teeth. He could feel his skin prickling and cracking like a stoked fire, could feel the raging fire burning behind his eyes, could feel the heat rolling in waves off his skin. Knew he looked like a monster. "Do you hear me brother? I'll storm the gates of the Silver City with an army of demons and beasts just _dying_ to get their claws on some angels." He didn't dare meet Chloe's eyes, didn't want to see her own fear of him in them. "I will set Paradise on fire. I will bring you all here, with me, and make you regret the day you were formed into existence." He growled his threat, watching as Michael's lips lifted in a sneer, but his eyes had the smallest hint of concern in them. He knew, all too well, that if Lucifer was passionate about it, it would happen. He knew Lucifer was good for his word.

His body allowed him to spill his threatening promise before sending him into another bout of coughing, blood freely slipping past his lips as he tried to hold it in. He could feel his lungs wheezing with every short breath he could take, and knew it belittled his warning, especially when Michael shoved him off with the spear's staff moving to press against his chest.

"Don't hurt yourself, little brother," the angel laughed, watching Lucifer stumble backwards a couple of steps before falling to his knees, posting out on his least damaged hand, to keep his head off the ground. "Besides, I'd hate to have to finish you off with your pretty human watching." The spear returned to cross over her chest, definitely looking all the cage it was intended to symbolize.

"I mean it, Michael," Lucifer growled wetly, bright red painting his lips and chin, covering the darker patches of dried blood and torn skin.

"Unlike you, _snake_ ," Michael spat, sneering down at him as Lucifer struggled to get enough air. "I know my purpose, and I follow my orders. I'm doing this because it is Father's will. Not yours."

"I don't care," Lucifer muttered, and even he could hear how weak he sounded. He could see Chloe in Michael's arms, frantic, eyes wide and wet. She was begging, pleading, and he was trying to tune her out. It was easy; it seemed as more and more blood flowed out of him, flowed into cavities inside of him where blood didn't belong, the less he could hear, the less he could feel.

"Lucifer. Get up! Get up!" he heard her shout, could hear the pain in her voice, could hear the realization, her refusal to accept it.

Like a puppet with his strings pulled by the puppeteer, he used what strength was left to force himself to standing, staggering the few steps over to where Chloe was calling for him in his brother's arms. He went straight for her, and he caressed her face in his hands as he crushed his lips to hers. He could feel her tears on his cheeks, how badly she was shaking against his mouth, and he slid his tongue in behind her teeth for the final taste, the last bite; allowing himself to memorize the taste of her, the way her hair smelled.

He coughed, spraying blood on her face, in her mouth, and she maneuvered her arms so she could cup his face, trying to pull him in, like it didn't matter, like taking in his pain could make it better. He could feel his lungs filling, could feel another choking cough coming up, so he slowly, reluctantly pulled away. He didn't get far, though. Chloe fisted her hands in his torn shirt and pulled him back in, claiming his mouth with desperation, making small whimpers against his lips. He was a slave to those sounds, so he stayed, always doing what she commanded.

He kissed her until he felt Michael's fist on his shoulder, shoving him away with little strength, although his face was screwed up with confusion and disgust. "That's enough," he grunted, holding Chloe tighter, but no less indifferently. It was one of the major differences between him and his siblings. Lucifer envied the humans, the others looked at them like lesser beings, like ants in a farm, as Chloe had so wisely put it. Chloe started to fight against Michael's hold, to no avail, and it killed Lucifer to back away from her, more than the wounds were.

"Please, just go," he asked, defeated, braving a final glace up at Chloe, feeling a ball of despair form in his throat as she yelled at him, begged for him to come, to not leave her. He wished she could understand that he wasn't leaving her. He was letting her go to where she belonged, to where she wouldn't be destroyed by him and the feral land he was forever tethered to.

He felt dizzy and sick to his stomach, and when he collapsed to the ground, on useless hands and knees, he could hear Chloe screaming through the strong flaps of his brother's wings. He let the sounds, both fleeting and tormented, spread relief through his battered, torn-out soul. He was resigned to dying there, alone in the barren environ of ashes and rock, with all the other filthy, rotting things his Father deemed too terrible for his precious world.

If he had to die with the taste of blood in his mouth, at least he could remember the way she tasted around all that metallic bitterness. Every breath was a fight, his chest feeling weighted down by the entire world, like the very cliffs surrounding him were crowding his space, squeezing him until he broke. He could feel his body shivering, the blood loss taking effect, his lids feeling heavy over his eyes, and he took solace in the way pain turned into a tingling numbness throughout his body.

**[[In Too Deep]](https://youtu.be/eso_G_nBJsI) **

His eyes were closed, he thought, and he hardly registered a cold hand gliding across the back of his shoulders, a familiarity there that he couldn't process. The overpowering smell of charred roses and pomegranates filled his nose, making something in his chest tighten that his weakening senses couldn't place, couldn't remember.

"My darling, what have they done to you?" a woman's voice cooed in his ear, a gentle whisper that felt more like a life sentence than a comfort. He sensed a chilly hand caress the side of his face, rubbing lightly, possessively, and then he felt lips on his temple, and it was all wrong. Chloe's were plush, warm, devouring. Those were hard, cold, and held no desperation. Lucifer slumped against the slight figure behind him, his head falling back onto a slender shoulder. Defeat and dread took over, the lack of energy and will to drive off the deceptively gentle being behind him feeling like an embrace good enough to die in.

"You always find your way back to me," the icy voice supposed in his ear, and he didn't know he could feel colder than he had before she appeared. "That's how I know we're meant to be together, Lucifer. You belong here, with me. I'll take care of you."

He couldn't have cared even if he had tried. He could feel his heart slowing, could feel his faculties failing. He couldn't do anything to stop it. Death would be a selfish mercy for him: Chloe would have to learn to get over him, while he wouldn't have the pulse to be distraught about her absence.

He felt the whoosh of air around him, another cold kiss to his temple, and then nothing at all.

Illusory peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Oooooh. ***gasp*** What have I done? 
> 
> If you're still with me, I appreciate you! Please, let me know what you think in the comments. I'm all for respectful discussion, even if you don't agree. I hope you liked it. I also hope you checked out the music links, I think they really add to the experience. 
> 
> If you couldn't tell... the end left a Part 4 very likely ;) 
> 
> Thank you guys, you're the best. Stay crazy. Stay safe.


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